


This is not the Endgame

by Hephastia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anti-Tony Stark, Do not publish to other sites, Endgame Fix-It, F/M, I mean it, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:28:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephastia/pseuds/Hephastia
Summary: Basically, I like very little of Endgame. This is a story of what could have happened once the credits rolled.Steve was sick. Tired, fed up, at the end of his rope and losing his grip.Peggy, when she'd been succumbing to dementia, had once told him that you can't go back, that it's up to you to make the most of the time that you have. But she was wrong.This is a story of recovery and rebuilding for Bucky after Steve's abandonment in Endgame, finding romance with an original female character, possibilities and a future, includes real world consequences for those affected by both the Snap and the Unsnap, dusted and undusted, and promotes mental health. 'Cause frankly, practically everybody in the MCU could benefit from a bunch of serious therapy.Tumblr users moonstarphoenix, cosmicmechanism, invisiblespork, winterofthedarkestlight, and cap-is-bi have provided logical objections to Endgame along with information to support them, and their posts have influenced portions of this story. Thanks to jessebelle for her feedback and help with tags.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. And if we can't find where we belong, we'll have to make it on our own

Steve was sick. Tired, fed up, at the end of his rope and losing his grip. 

Peggy, when she'd been succumbing to dementia, had once told him that you can't go back, that it's up to you to make the most of the time that you have. But she was wrong. 

He could go back. Back to a time that made sense to him. A familiar Brooklyn, a lower-tech environment. He could find out who he was meant to be, no pressure. All his life, he'd been inadequate. Before the serum, his memories were hazed by the grip of angina, the constriction of asthma, shitty eyesight, scoliosis... his many maladies. He'd had a certain talent for art and an unshakable disdain for bullies. Couldn't get into the Army, couldn't get a good job, couldn't get a steady gal. He did have Bucky, who had all these things, but didn't properly value them. Right after the serum, he'd chased down a Nazi spy, barefoot, punched through the glass of a submarine, for Christ's sake. Only to have Chester Philips tell him that he'd been promised an army, and all he'd gotten was him. The disgust that twisted his voice on his last word. 

Once again, he'd been inadequate.

But he'd done his part--bond sales had soared following his appearances--and he'd gotten to go over to the European theater of war. That's when he'd truly started to find out what he could do. His spine was straight, all his ailments had vanished, he was taller and stronger and head-turning. He felt like what he thought Bucky always felt like, and it was great. Finally, he was enough. He rescued his best friend and hundreds of POWs, single-handed. He got a special squad as an award, heads turned in his direction, positively for a change, and Philips finally acknowledging that he WAS enough. Girls were flinging themselves at him. Even Peggy, who'd initially just seen his intelligence and drive but dismissed his exterior, had come around. She'd been interested in him, not Bucky.

And for several months, he was enough. He led his men against Hydra, and they had significant victories. But then there was Zola. And the train. And all he'd had to do was hold on. Hold on to his best friend's hand, with all his new superstrength.

He'd failed.

He was not enough.

And when he'd wrested control of the Valkyrie away from Schmidt, there was a certain serenity in his choice to put the plane in the ice. He could save the mainland from the Hydra bombs. He could be enough. And, in his ending, he would stay that way.

He was considerably dismayed to wake up and find himself in a future that he could not have imagined. The change in technology, in the social mores, fashion, the role of women and minorities... the world had moved on in ways that boggled his mind. His transformation was no longer extreme; movies envisioned far more. Fury had given him a lifeline in the offer to join SHIELD. He could contribute to the team's successes. Except then it all went bad. Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD and was an insidious world force once again. He had to burn it down. And he butted heads with his teammates. Well, mainly Tony. He cut him a lot of slack because he was Howard's boy and they were on the same side, or so he thought. But Tony had problems, ones that he wouldn't face, and he turned into quite a fascist. Project Insight, Ultron, his insistence that his tech could save the world. And Bruce, while Steve had no quarrel with him personally, enabled his behavior. Tony could be spiteful and had a bad habit of objectifying people and threw his weight around rather than taking the time to compromise, to actually use his genius to think through problems rather than suiting up and trying to blast his way through. Thor had a similar mindset as Steve, but he was often gone to Asgard and wasn't terribly open either. Clint, he'd thought, was a good man, a family man, a good friend. Nat... Nat and Sam were special. He acclimated to the new time, made a found family, and he was enough.

Then he'd found out that Bucky had survived his fall from the train, thanks to whatever experiments Zola had put him through--and he'd never asked Bucky about that time in Azzano, figuring that if he wanted to talk, he would, but that was cowardly, and he was not a good enough friend--and he'd found him and took him to Wakanda, and T'Challa had offered them safe haven and a cure. 

And more god damned aliens showed up, a different bunch, and he was, spectacularly, inadequate. He'd lost, spectacularly. Failed utterly. Sam and Bucky, gone. Other friends, including T'Challa and his supergenius sister Shuri. Half the life in the universe, as a matter of fact. Those who were left were not... well, Tony hadn't been Snapped, for one thing. And he'd had a hissy and went off to pout. Until Scott had shown up with the answer. Time travel, a way to get the Infinity Stones and undo the Snap.

But he couldn't even do that right. Tony had insisted that his daughter outweighed all the harm done by the Snap, all the suffering and trauma and loss, and so it hadn't been undone, as such. Life--barring Natasha and Gamora--had been brought back, to great chaos. 

Well, he was done. He was tired of not being enough, for his best efforts to be insufficient. To have people always saying he shoulda coulda done more to prevent harm. Screw that, the people who said it, their issues, and whatever the hell they'd rode in on. He made his plan, told Bucky. Said goodbye. Bucky would be ok. His head was fixed now. Sam didn't particularly like him, but he'd see that Bucky was put on his feet. And he'd make sure that Sam got a reward, the shield, because Sam was a good man who would be successful as Captain America. 

Steve took the stones, put them back in the past, and stayed to find the peace and adequacy that had mostly always eluded him.

"Look, man, you don't have to go. The government's buying the Avengers complex from her, the sale is in progress as well as them taking over funding the team. We're just waiting for the ink to dry. She doesn't have authority over us." Sam's voice was frustrated, but Bucky kept his head down, slapping the tape over the box flaps. He didn't have a lot of stuff.

"I don't really want to be here in the Avengers complex. I can do my work easier if I live in the city anyway," he said, straightening up and hefting the box. "Pepper Potts doesn't have to like me, I don't have to like her. I need a new start, now that Steve's gone."

"And isn't that fucked up," Sam muttered. Bucky barked a laugh. "I get that Steve was depressed after the snap and he kind of fixated on the 40's, the last time he had a clear conscience. But what the hell's he going to do for money? He doesn't have cash with the right dates, his credit cards aren't going to work, he has no ID. How's he going to get a job? He'll still be recognized, he's still in the wreck in the ice." Sam sighed. "You know what? This time travel shit makes my brain hurt. It isn't logical, it doesn't make sense. It's ridiculous."

Bucky shrugged. "He didn't like the 40s much when he was living it. The food was boring, there weren't any vacuum cleaners, nobody we knew had a washer or dryer. No internet, and we were mostly broke. He was small, sick, and hostile a lot." He snorted. "At least he won't have to worry about the primitive state of medication any more." Sam sighed again and picked up another box, one of three.

"Ok, so why are you moving to such a shithole? It's older than you. I mean, literally. It's so old that it probably doesn't have a sewer line, it probably all just dumps into the basement. The neighborhood is shitty. There was a junkie passed out in the hall, Buck. There are drug dealers on the street." Bucky was silent. "Do you not think you deserve to live somewhere that's not about to be condemned?" he asked incredulously. Then, when Bucky walked to the door of the room in the Avengers complex, hurried after him. "You're taking your antidepressants, right?" he asked quietly as they walked through the empty hall.

"Yeah."

They walked out and put the boxes in the back of the van that Bucky'd rented for the day. They could have gotten by with a sedan, Sam reckoned. Steve had left all the possessions he hadn't taken with him--everything but some clothes and a few personal mementos he took back--to Bucky, but Bucky'd gotten rid of the furniture, given out other things as mementos to Sam and a few other people. The only thing he'd actually kept was the motorcycle; he had a parking space in a rental garage in a nearby neighborhood that was secured.

"Look, Buck, at least buy some decent furniture," he begged on the way over. He knew that money wasn't a problem for Bucky--he was on the Avengers payroll, and after the court-martial that had formally cleared him of all charges stemming from his actions as The Asset, he had a massive chunk of back pay and a payout that he'd accepted rather than suing the government officials who had tried to have him killed rather than incarcerated. His civil rights had been violated in a big way, but Bucky had just wanted to put everything behind him. No longer the Winter Soldier, just Bucky Barnes. Whoever that turned out to be. And he refused to join the Avengers as an operative; he was working intelligence for them, but he was done with missions. Especially since SHIELD was back in business, the Avengers sort of their special branch.

It took some badgering, but eventually Bucky agreed to go to a real furniture store and purchase the furnishings for his new apartment. ("You don't want bedbugs from second-hand furniture," Sam had pointed out.) Sam looked nervous as Bucky parked the van in front of The Shithole. From the outside, it didn't look THAT bad. It had nice bones, but it was neglected, weeds growing out around the foundation and through cracks in the sidewalk. There was ornamentation on the building that had crumbled away over time, and it was a walkup. Bucky's place was on the third floor. It smelled mildewed inside. There actually was an elevator, but it didn't work, didn't look like it had for several decades. The stairs were squeaky and a little shaky. They carried the boxes into the lobby, in which the key-opened mailboxes were the best-kept part, past a woman on a cheap flip phone. Most people didn't have smartphones any more; the devices themselves were pretty cheap on the secondary market, but the service plans were out of reach for a lot of people. You could go month to month, which was why old fashioned flip phones and Nokias were back; those plans were still expensive, but at least you didn't rack up a lot of debt just using them for phone calls and texts. The only reason that personal computers were still viable was that Congress had put a cap on the rates. And it was still significantly more expensive than before the snap. Bucky quickly surveyed her as he passed; late twenties, shiny dark brown hair, big eyes, a bit plump. She was dressed in a white button-down and khakis, flats on her feet. Cheap clothes, but there was energy in her voice. She was talking about having just graduated with a masters degree. Not a threat. He dismissed her from his thoughts and started up the stairs.

They went back and forth a few times, and Sam was glad that Bucky had so little, just the boxes and a couple of bags of clothing, a couple of towels, a blanket. There was a sleeping bag on the floor. Sam winced. He couldn't say truthfully that Bucky was incompetent, but he did need... something. Monitoring. He laughed at himself; he'd accepted Bucky as a project as soon as Steve had buggered off. They went back downstairs; Bucky was going to return the van, but Sam pointed out that he'd have a hard time getting furniture delivered, and they went to a store.

"No point in getting anything too nice," Bucky said as Sam tried to get him to reconsider his choices. He did agree to a platform bed instead of just putting the mattress on the floor, and a small sectional rather than the single chair he'd been planning. This joined a cafe table with two chairs, two end tables that Sam talked him into, a coffee table, and a flat-pack bookcase. Sam was right; the store refused to deliver to that neighborhood, but it all just fit in the van because most of it would have to be assembled. Even though Sam had to sit with one of the end tables in his lap. At the apartment building, they traded off guarding the van with hauling stuff up until the sofa was all that was left, and that took two trips, one for each chunk. Sam chased off a couple of kids who were trying to steal the van, and offered to return it for Bucky. There were some quiet thanks, some shoulder-slapping, then Bucky trudged into The Shithole and Sam drove off, feeling better. He'd come to like Bucky as a person, but he was kind of a rain cloud in human form. Not that he didn't have ample reason, he reminded himself.

Bucky sighed as he looked at his new apartment, a studio. Sam was right, it was a shithole, but he couldn't summon the interest to care. It looked the way he felt, and that was enough. He put the bookcase together using the tool pack that came with it, folded his clothes on the shelves, then swore when he saw the state of the bathroom. He could probably make biological weapons with what was growing there. He reluctantly examined the rest of the place, checking to see that the refrigerator worked, made a list, and went to a store.

It was a long way away, actually; The Shithole was in a food desert. After he invested heavily in cleaning products, supplies, and nutritious food, he hailed a cab and went to a hardware store, then a home goods store, having the cabbie wait for him at each stop. He had a lot of bags when the nervous cabbie dropped him, and he included a good tip as compensation. He unpacked the food, stowing things quickly, washing the kitchenwares that he'd gotten, a frying pan, a sauce pan, a spatula, two cooking spoons--one with slots, and a set of three mixing bowls. Place settings for four. Silverware, eight settings in the box. Four glasses. He snorted. Three place settings too many, seven settings of silverware, three glasses, all too many. He was going on faith that the washing machine worked; it was ancient and there was no dryer, but there was a retractable clothesline that ran across the kitchen. He tossed the sheet set, the bath towels, and the kitchen towel in, then took hold of the bucket with the cleaning products and bravely entered the bathroom.

He had to take a break, so he ripped the drill he'd gotten at the hardware store out of the plastic clamshell and replaced the cheap door lock with a heavy-duty model, adding two deadbolts, one high, one low, to prevent the door from being forced. Put together the bed and the kitchen table and chairs, shoved the double mattress on the platform.

He tidied the sawdust and packing materials up and finished the Bathroom of Doom.

While he'd never say he enjoyed being The Asset at any time, there was no denying that during that time at least he'd never had to clean any grotty bathrooms.

When he was finished, the washer had loudly finished the cycle, so he made a fast dinner and then hung the laundry on the line; he'd been surprised that the grocery store still had wooden pins in the cleaning section. He spent the remainder of the evening cleaning the rest of the place with strong cleaners, just to be sure nothing gross was lurking, then took the plastic off the sectional and took the garbage out to the dumpster in the alley behind.

He sat down on the sofa when he got back. The microfiber was soft under his hand, a little like suede. The cushions were firm but comfortable. His metal fingers tapped the arm, then he got up to put the the mattress protector on the bed--he'd gotten ones for the exclusion of bedbugs, allergens, and water--followed by sheets, stuffing the new pillow into the pillowcase. He fussed with the blanket, folding it at the foot of the bed; fall was here pretty early but it wasn't really cold yet. The sleeping bag was folded neatly and placed in the corner. Bucky turned, getting a 360 degree view of his apartment. Not bad. Better than the tenement he'd lived in pre-war, certainly better than anywhere he'd been kept as The Asset. Better furnished than his apartment in Europe. The heater, washer, refrigerator, and cook top were ancient but functional, the cabinets and countertop worn but serviceable. He'd been informed that in mid-June, window air conditioning units would be installed for anyone who paid for them, one per apartment. He absently wiped his eyes, watering from the pungent pine scent of the cleaner he'd used. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and stripped off his clothes, sliding between the sheets on the firm mattress, even though it was just past ten.

The next morning he was up early, mechanically making a large hot breakfast--the serum he'd been treated with had also boosted his calorie needs high to support the cellular changes, plus he just loved bacon--and went out, developing his contacts in the city. He had a decent network internationally, all of whom still feared him, but domestically, he had nothing. He'd need to travel to other important US cities to find sources of information, but New York was the best place to start. The senior Senator from the state was the chairman of the committee that was holding the Avengers' reins these days. Any dirt about the man, he wanted to know. Always good to have your blackmail lined up before you might need it. Hopefully they would never need to use it.

Intelligence gathering should have been Natasha's job, but... It wasn't like he didn't know how she'd been trained; he'd received the same education even though he'd never been permitted to use it. As The Asset, his missions had been planned for him; all he'd had to do was execute. Still, because of the possibility that a mission could be busted and he'd be exposed, his handlers hadn't wanted to unnecessarily risk losing their weapon. He knew how it worked. Another reason that he'd said he'd collect intelligence was so that he wouldn't have to work with Barton on missions. Barton, who should have tried harder to keep Natasha from sacrificing herself. He should have known better. Natasha was one of a kind, she'd had heart, but there were others who had long-range weapons and could pilot the quinjets. He'd felt malicious satisfaction when he'd heard that Barton's wife had had a fit about her husband's activities during the Snap and they were separated. Bucky wouldn't have trusted himself to have the other man's back in a crisis.

He came and went at irregular intervals, avoiding patterns. He rarely saw the other residents, aside from the junkie who often passed out in the hall on his way to his apartment or on the stairs. A person here and there at the mailboxes. He'd seen the woman with the shiny dark hair twice more, both times on her phone. Cell reception was vile here and only seemed to work in the lobby and a little way up the stairs. His hearing had been enhanced by the serum as well, and he could hear both sides of the conversation. The last time he saw her, she was listening to her sister commiserating with her that a promotion she'd been counting on as the reward for getting a masters degree turned out to be a twenty-five cent raise, 'Senior' added to her title, and no new responsibilities. He eavesdropped out of habit, sorting through the junk mail slowly, tossing it into the city-mandated recycling only after a thorough inspection. But hearing nothing suspicious--the Unsnappening had created a world of trouble on many fronts--he headed upstairs. Family. You were better off without it.

The next month was devoted to work, and he was pleased with his progress. He'd found access to a lot of places he shouldn't be, and had planted a whole genus's worth of bugs. They were hooked into an Avengers' program that scanned for key words, sparing him a lot of hours of listening. So far the only dirt he'd turned up on the Senator was that he had a mistress, but that wasn't exceptional, really. A whole lot of politicians had them, apparently, it just made him disgusted that the Senator prattled on about 'family values' and voted consistently against money for Planned Parenthood, sex education in the classroom, and a host of other programs that gave women autonomy over their bodies, or school hot lunch programs, or benefits for the unfortunate. Not to mention that the mistress was a former intern, still in college, and there were hints that she'd had to have an abortion. Bucky was quite sure that those were not the family values he'd been raised with. His mom would have made his dad's life hell if he'd even thought of straying. Well, the world had changed; nowadays finding out about a mistress just barely out of her teens and formerly pregnant would collect some tuts but not cost the man his job as long as he continued to vote in line with the party policies. Hypocrisy was no big deal any more.

He was making inroads into Avengers-class villainy, too, identifying major players and their underworld specialties. He'd identified a good hiding place in the apartment for his Avengers-issued laptop, carefully removing the staples holding the lining to the base of the long part of his sofa to create a flap, which was held in place with small flat thumbtacks. His options were limited in the studio apartment.

He discovered a new downside to The Shithole. Roaches. The day after he'd moved in, he'd gotten an ultrasonic repeller that he could only leave on when he was gone since he could hear the whining sound clearly, and several different types of roach bait and deployed them in his apartment. It wasn't a change in his habits to be neat with his food and clean up after every meal, but he'd also gone to another store and bought airtight containers for the limited number of staples he had. And he had gotten hanging tiered wire baskets for his fruit. The thought of roaches wandering over his food repulsed him. He'd complained to the super, who said that there'd be the yearly extermination treatment the next month and to watch for the announcement. 

When the exterminator came, Bucky was displeased with the little work that was done and complained again to the super, who shrugged it off. "You can always break your lease, pay the penalties, move out if you don't like it." Bucky didn't want to leave; he'd just got settled in, learned the regular sounds of the building, and the investment of his labor cleaning the bathroom hadn't been paid off yet. Besides, finding cheap quarters in the city was difficult. He'd spent a few evenings carefully pulling out the kitchen and bathroom cabinets, wrinkling his nose at the roach leavings that had accumulated, and gotten some personal protective equipment to use cleaning up before applying professional-grade extermination products. Then he patched holes and cracks in the walls and floor, and moved the cabinets back. He slept with the windows open for a couple of nights, but his roach problem cleared up nicely.

"That's your big triumph for the week?" Sam asked over beer one night, eyebrows raised. "Dude. You need a hobby." There'd been a bit of terseness over this, then Bucky'd asked about Sam's life. Sam had been on a couple of dates; you still had to kiss a lot of frogs apparently, but Sam was undaunted. He was having a good time and adjusting to his new role as Captain America. And doing a good job, by the look of the after-action reports that Bucky read. Sam wasn't terribly happy, but he was content.

"I don't like the way I got the shield," he confessed, circling the bottom of his pint glass on the table. "And there's a lot to live up to, Steve's reputation. There are many people who don't like the idea of a black man as Captain America." Bucky shook his head silently. Assholes. "But at least I didn't get any of that serum. A supercharged black man would drive them out of their damned minds."

"You do a good job," Bucky said. "Fuck the racists."

"Thanks, I'd rather not," Sam said dryly, and Bucky huffed a laugh. Well, more like half a chuckle, but it was something. And the conversation turned, in carefully veiled terms, to how Bucky's work setting up his intelligence network was going. Pretty well, actually. Some of the geeks at SHIELD (100% Hydra free, they had promised) were hacking into computer systems, so he didn't have to worry about that avenue of information. He got daily updates about what they'd found in order to shape his targets for human intelligence. After Sam felt that Bucky had been adequately socialized--he spent a lot of time alone, Sam was worried--they said good night. Sam went back to the Avengers complex and Bucky faded into the night to make one last penetration, plant a bug, and ghost back home.


	2. Do you think you're better everyday

Later that week, Bucky pulled up to a gas station after a session with his therapist. He loved motorcycles, the intimacy of the speed and the air passing over the rider, but he didn't particularly care for the one he had. Steve had given him the Harley Davidson Street 750 before he left. It had great performance, it was all black, but its gas mileage in the city was in the low 30s. And it felt like sort of a fire sale sort of thing, given away because its owner just didn't want it anymore. Didn't want his friendship, either, for that matter. Nevertheless, it ran well and was reliable transportation; Bucky couldn't be bothered to replace it. Couldn't justify it, anyway; free from Hydra conditioning, he'd reverted to his upbringing where everything was worn out before it was discarded. He drove to the garage, parking and walking to The Shithole in the gathering dark. He usually didn't bother with a helmet unless he was on a mission.

In the lobby, he crossed to the maiboxes. The woman with the shiny dark hair--pulled back today in an intricate braid--was cursing under her breath, reading a letter. He withdrew the only mail he ever got--junk mail--and sorted it into the recycling. He took a chance. "Bad news?" he asked, and the woman looked up at him.

"Yeah. It won't affect you until your lease comes up again, but they're going to raise the rents $200 a month. Shit. Most of us barely earn enough for the rent as it is, it's extortionate already." She seemed torn between tears and rage. Bucky wasn't sure what to do.

"I'm sorry to hear that. As you said, it's hard to find affordable housing." He hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll think of something. Probably a second job, if I can find one." She exhaled, then summoned a smile. "My name's Ava. Ava Mignot. I think you live a couple places down the hall from me." She put out her hand. Bucky shook it gingerly.

"I'm... Jim," he decided on the spot. "Barnes." He hated the nickname, but it put another layer between him and the unsuspecting public. It was rare, talking to a stranger, finding cursory commonplaces, and he didn't want to jeopardize his anonymity, especially where he lived. By now, people had accepted the public explanation for the Snap--that an immensely powerful being had the power and used it, that the Avengers had tried and failed to stop him, that they'd managed to finally bring the disappeared people back. The government had said that the means by which they'd done it was classified, and that was that. If they knew the whole truth, it could get ugly.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling at him. Huh. That was also rare. "I should have introduced myself before now, it wasn't neighborly."

"This doesn't seem like a really neighborly place," he ventured. She tipped her hand back and forth.

"Depends. The first two floors have most of the people who are ... better left to themselves. There are a couple of drug dealers, some gang members. They're kind of dangerous, but generally, they keep worse off the street outside, so nobody hassles them. If there's a security issue, like someone strange coming into the building, they'll take care of it. Some people, I don't know what they do, but they give off a definite vibe that they'd like to be left alone, and we do. Things are friendlier on the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth floors. Not everybody is open with each other, but we know each other to say hi to, and there's a barter economy going on. You do something for another resident, they owe you a favor, and everybody has some sort of skill. For example, Matt on the fourth floor is a fantastic stylist; he works at a salon, but he'll trade me haircuts for keeping his appliances running. I'd introduce you." Her smile widened, and he pushed his luck a little farther.

"Are you saying I need a haircut?" The ghost of a smile touched his mouth briefly.

"You have such gorgeous thick hair, it's a shame that it's not maximized," she said tactfully. He couldn't figure out if she was flirting with him. Best to assume not. He agreed, and they went upstairs to see if this Matt was home.

"Matty," Ava said, smiling at the tall thin man who opened the door. "We lucked out. I wanted to introduce you to Jim, he's new on third. Wanted to know if sometime I could cash in a favor for a haircut for him. Sort of a welcome to the building kind of thing." Matt and Bucky shook hands. "We don't get the Welcome Wagon here," she said to Bucky.

"You have more favors than you'll ever use," Matt said ruefully to her. "She kept my air conditioner working this summer. I must have had the worst one in the building. She's a mechanical goddess; she has to be, everything around here is shit, including the super," he said to Bucky. "I've got time right now, if you do."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," he said to Ava, and followed the man into his apartment. It was nicer than Bucky's, with bright colors, even if the furniture all looked second hand. Or third hand. Or more. It was all in good repair, at any rate. Matt pulled out the chair at the minuscule kitchen table and brought over a towel and a plastic carrier from brick and board shelving. 

"Sorry I don't have time for the full treatment," he said as he draped the towel over Bucky's shoulders and began dampening his hair with a water bottle. "I have to get to work in an hour, filling in for somebody else, but I hate to turn down Ava. She's a great neighbor, a genuinely nice person. And she kept us from sweltering to death the past few months, this side of the building faces east and there's no insulation in the walls. The super says, when something breaks, that the owner only gives him so much money every month for repairs, he's already spent it, he'll put your name on the list. As far as I can tell, three things get fixed every month; the waiting list is five pages long now." He snorted, then started to section Bucky's dark hair. "So I should ask before I start cutting. Long, short? What would you like? Shorter will highlight that handsome face. But longer gives you more options. You can pull it back, or let it swing in your face."

Bucky didn't know what to think. Mostly, as The Asset, they'd kept his hair short for ease; when they'd left it long, it was because they were busy or simply had other priorities. "What would you recommend? That woman--Ava--praised your skills."

The man examined him. "You've got a real man of mystery vibe, long hair would really work for you." He nodded decisively. "I'll cut some layers in, to frame your face and make it look modern and deliberate." He nodded, then clipped more hair aside before picking up some shears. There were a few minutes of silence as the man snipped, comparing pieces of hair from each side of Bucky's face for length.

"So do you have a girlfriend, Jim?" he asked conversationally. Bucky started. It had been a long time since anybody'd asked him a personal question. "Boyfriend?"

"Uh, no," he said.

"The Return screw things up for you too?" Matt asked sympathetically, and Bucky sighed.

"Yeah. I came back, things had changed. A lot." Matt nodded.

"I don't know anybody who wasn't affected by the Snap and its reverse," he said. "My girlfriend--" Bucky was surprised. "I know, people take a look at me, my hair, my profession--" the man's hair was an eye-catching shade of royal blue with white tips, cut short on the sides, long on the top, and had a tendency to flop in his eyes--"Everybody's surprised I'm not gay."

"I'm sorry," Bucky said awkwardly. "I shouldn't have assumed."

"No big deal, there's nothing wrong with being gay. I'd like to put on some muscle, but the only gym around here that I can afford is the old fashioned kind, free weights and a boxing ring. Intimidates the hell out of me. Anyway, my girlfriend was in a plane that was taking off. The pilot and co-pilot were Snapped, the plane plopped back down and ran off the runway at full speed. It was a real mess; somehow Gina got out, but because there was so much chaos, it was awhile before an ambulance got to the airfield and took her to the hospital. We moved here just before the Unsnappening, get some distance, be a little more anonymous. There are a lot of people who were hurt during the Snap; she blends in a bit better. I'm just telling you this because if you see her, I'd appreciate it if you didn't freak out. She usually covers most of the scars with a scarf, though. Once her outside was as beautiful to everyone else as her inside. She had some bad burns, you see."

"I get it," Bucky said. His vivid imagination was a curse sometimes. Impulsively, he had the desire to share. A little. "My family was gone before the Snap. Right after I Unsnapped, my best friend took off to pursue a woman he'd fixated on. Saw him for a couple minutes after that once. It's been hard to find friends since."

"You've got trust issues, got it," Matt said, spraying more water and snipping. Bucky blinked at this assessment. Matt put down the shears and took a tube of stuff, squeezing out a dollop, rubbed his hands together briskly before running his hands through Bucky's hair, singling out bits here and there for more intensive treatment. "Well, there are those of us who do have a community here, we're not just residents in the same building. You can fit in here if you want. Just don't judge people too harshly." He plugged in a hair dryer and trained it on Bucky's head. Conversation, perforce, waited.

Matt snapped off the dryer and carefully combed out Bucky's hair. "So what's Ava's story?" he asked cautiously.

"She's a civil engineer, woefully underpaid. She just earned her masters degree last month, but the supervisor who'd promised her a good promotion when she earned her degree had left for some other company, there was nothing in writing, she got screwed. There's a lot of need, but funds are tight, they say. Sections of the interstates are closed, dams have to be worked on, all of it. Airports, bridges, buildings, tunnels. So places, even government departments, pay peanuts and they can get away with it. There's not the money for salaries or even good benefits, they say, but somehow the big companies like Hammer, Stark, Oscorp, the rest of them are still making record profits while the people who actually do the work have to live in slums like this." His mouth thinned. "She's another who's had it bad. You'll have to ask her for the rest of her story." Then he tousled Bucky's hair artfully. "She seems upset. You know anything?"

"Apparently rent's going up $200 a month with the next lease."

"Shit," Matt said. "Like life's not hard enough as it is. At least we've got a few months before we have to decide what to do. And you're done." He handed Bucky a mirror. Bucky stared at himself; pieces of hair cut into his face from cheekbone to jaw, making him feel kind of protected and enclosed, then Matt swept his hair back. "You can put it into a ponytail or a man bun, if you want, when you're working out or whatever."

"It looks amazing." Bucky was completely honest. He didn't tend to think much about his appearance any more beyond making sure he was clean, nondescript, and not smelly. Unremarkable. Unlike before the war, when he'd delighted in well-polished shoes, brilliantined hair, the sharpest suit he could afford when he was off duty. He'd had ladies to impress, back then. "This is the best haircut I've ever had."

"Another satisfied customer," Matt said complacently, pulling the towel off Bucky's broad shoulders and shaking the hair onto the floor. "Don't use rubber bands to pull your hair back, they'll break your hair off. You can get covered elastics at the grocery store. At home, I charge a favor or $25 per haircut. At the salon, it's $40. Of course, I get only half that, so it actually works out better for me if you don't come there." If there was one thing that Bucky understood well, it was the black market. Well, and abusive employers, so two things. "If you want to do something nice for Ava, she likes chocolate." Bucky did offer a tip, which Matt accepted without a fuss, giving him a business card and telling him what he'd used on his hair, and Bucky headed for his apartment. His right hand kept coming up to check his hair; it felt soft, fluffy, and it smelled very faintly of sandalwood. Nice.

He ran into Ava in the hall. "Wow," she said, her hand coming up, then dropping to her side. "Your hair looks wonderful, Jim." Bucky smiled a little, pleased.

"I appreciate the favor," he said. "Where are you off to?" He hoped this wasn't too personal.

"Found a few places to apply at that are hiring part time. I'd rather not have to look for a new place to stay until I have to, you know? Better the devil you know." He nodded.

"I won't keep you, then." She smiled and headed for the stairs, and he went to his apartment, going straight for the bathroom and stroking his fingers through his hair. It did look pretty fabulous. His agile mind saw that without the styling product and heat styling, the cut wouldn't look distinctive, so he could blend into the crowd still. He shook the hair into his face, but the pieces had been styled to stand out, and it made him nervous. He exhaled hard. He was no longer The Asset, he coached himself. Hydra wasn't looking for him anymore. He was safe. He picked up his plain black leather jacket and headed out. He could do his grocery shopping a little early.

He came back later with bags of groceries, a bag from Target that had a blow dryer (Bucky felt self conscious and uneasy with the purchase of the unfamiliar item, but nobody'd batted an eye) and hair bands. He'd bypassed the cards of colorful ones straight for the card that had twenty black ones on it. And he'd stopped by a salon, steeling himself for a new experience, and the receptionist had helped him find the products, suggesting others at his request. "That's a great haircut," she said. "Who did it?" Bucky had shown her Matt's card. "This guy's wasted there, he's really skilled. Can I keep the card?" Not sure if he was going to get Matt in trouble somehow, he agreed apprehensively. Was it right to help a business poach somebody else's employees? On the other hand, this looked like a nice place and he might be able to make more money. It was just a street farther away from the apartment building, the other way, so transportation shouldn't be much trouble if he got an offer. On his way back to his apartment, he stopped by Ava's apartment. He'd spent some time at the store looking at the chocolate shelves and felt rather paralyzed; he could remember giving fancy chocolates to women he'd dated before the war, and didn't want to imply that this was a come-on; on the other hand, just slinging a bag of mini-Snickers at her seemed a little casual. But better casual than looking like he was angling to get into her pants, so the small, expensive variety bag of mini candy bars it was. She'd smiled at him when he thanked her again for getting him the haircut, so that was good.

He worked hard the next several days; he'd also gotten unscented hair care products for use on the days when he was where he probably shouldn't be. He found himself looking forward to the days when he could use the sandalwood-scented stuff. The shampoo, conditioner, and styling product were also expensive, but he'd warmed to their use pretty fast. He had a lot of money he wasn't using, and it wasn't like personal care products would be putting a dent into his bank account. It was just his early frugal lifestyle.

He met Sam in the comfortable kind of dive bar where nobody much cared who was at the next table and people tended to keep to themselves. It wasn't far from his apartment building and he was feeling slightly more secure. Secure enough to have a favorite bar, anyway. The place was fairly empty, being the kind of bar that doesn't get busy until nine or so, and it was only six-ish. Every now and then the door would open, but Bucky's back was toward it and he didn't look around. A test for himself and his paranoia. Sam probably was the only person he would know, anyway. A blonde waitress came over, flicked cocktail napkins on the table, plonked down a basket of peanuts, and asked for their orders. She walked away, and Sam smiled at Bucky.

"Bucky with the good hair," he said, and was surprised to see a faint smile on the other man in return.

"Another tenant," Bucky said. "Apparently some of them trade favors to make the place more livable." His right hand stole up to touch his ends, then casually placed a small encrypted flash drive on the table by the peanut basket. The results of his latest intelligence analysis. He was going to have to go make a swing through other cities next week. Sam cracked open a peanut, tossed the shell on the ground, then noncommittally picked the drive up.

"Hey, Jim," an alto said just before their bottles of beer were placed on the napkins. "You fellows want glasses?"

"Uh, no thanks," Sam said hastily, kicking Bucky under the table. He started, looking around, and his eyes widened when he saw the brunette.

"Sorry, I was woolgathering," he said, flushing a bit. "This is my friend, Sam."

"Hey there," Sam said, smiling broadly to help control his laughter. The woman smiled back and asked if they needed anything else, then moved on to the next table of patrons.

"Jim?" he whispered, then started to laugh. "I thought you hated that name." Bucky scowled at him.

"I don't love it," he said. "But it's best to be incognito."

"Better remember that it's your alias, then," Sam advised, then took a swig of his beer. "Isn't she from The Shithole?"

"Yeah, the rent's going up twenty percent," he sighed. "She's underpaid at work, Matt said, and she said she was going to try to get a part time job. Guess she found one."

"What does she do?"

"Civil engineer. She just earned a masters degree in August," he said, recalling the conversation he'd overheard. "Didn't get the promotion she'd been promised, apparently." Sam grunted. There was a lot of that going on; the economy was in chaos due to the Unsnappening and a lot of people were taking advantage.

"That sucks," he said. Then they chatted more about innocuous topics. Periodically Ava or the blonde waitress came by to check on them. They must be pooling tips, and Bucky hoped that the blonde wasn't holding them back. Ava was more clothed but friendlier, the blonde wore a short skirt and tighter blouse. They had two beers each and finished the peanuts. "Don't forget there's a team meeting this week," Sam said as they got ready to leave, and Bucky grunted, pushing his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. Sam slapped his right shoulder as they went to the door, and they parted ways on the pavement.


	3. Quicker than a ray of light

Bucky started keeping more normal hours once he got back from his swing through Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, El Paso, New Orleans, and Miami. He was very satisfied with what he'd found out. He started running into Ava more in the building as his hours got increasingly regular; one evening he helped her bring up a large flat box. "Thanks," she said. "It's not heavy but it's awkward."

"For the short, maybe," he said absently, teasingly, then stiffened, worried that he'd insulted her. But she laughed, and he relaxed.

"I'm a slave to my genetics," she said lightly, and went ahead to unlock her door. She held it open for him, and and he placed the box on the sofa. The label said it was a two-burner induction cooktop. He was glad he hadn't accidentally bashed it on the banister. "Mine gave out last week, and Stan the Schmuck said he'd put me on the list. I'll die of old age before he replaces it."

"Do you need help replacing it?"

"Naw, it's an easy fix. I'll just put the old one in the box, stash it in the corner, and replace it if I ever get to move out, just to be mean."

"Matt said you did a lot of appliance repair."

"Yeah, people need their fridges and cooktops, the window AC units, the ancient electric heaters. And we can't have microwaves because they'll overload the circuits." She shook her head in disbelief.

"I thought you were a civil engineer?"

"Well, I knew I wanted to be an engineer when I first went to college, but I didn't know what flavor. So the first semester, I took an intro course for non-majors that focused on mechanical, electrical, and civil engineering, took a liking to civil. But the mechanical and electrical units gave me a basis to learn how to fix some appliances. And these are all really old, so they're easier to fix. People have to pay for the parts--and I know where you can get less expensive parts, recycling centers, junkyards, in case you need to fix something. But maybe you can do it yourself. You look like you might be pretty handy, Jim."

"It's nice to know I can get help if I'm in over my head." He smiled at her. "How long did it take to complete that degree program?" He didn't miss how her smile dimmed.

"It took me six years, but I had to drop out for a semester after the Snap." She picked at a cuticle. "My parents were killed in a traffic accident, like a lot of people. The driver had dusted. They had been paying for my college, same as they had for my sister, and they had good life insurance, so it shouldn't have been a problem. But it turned out that the insurance refused to pay; they called the Snap an act of God. There's still a class-action lawsuit against the companies, but again, I'll probably be dead before it settles, if it's not just thrown out. The car insurance paid out some, as little as possible, but we had to pay outstanding debt and there wasn't much left. My sister and I couldn't afford the mortgage payments for the house, couldn't get it refinanced when the real estate market tanked, and it was foreclosed. I ended up taking off a semester while I applied for scholarships, got my financial aid redone. Got used to everybody not being there. And I had to retake a couple of classes that I didn't do well enough in, from that semester that the Snap happened. I worked for a few years before starting my masters; I did better with that, got that in two years. There's a really good on-line civil engineering program with an available focus in construction engineering from NC State. It was non-thesis, so I didn't have to travel to defend it, a real help."

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I was dusted. For me, it was just like taking a nap. We missed out on all the chaos."

"Don't apologize, it wasn't your fault." She smiled at him a little.

"I like your place." Topic jump, but he did. The walls were brighter white in here, she had curtains over the battered metal-slat blinds that came with the place. He'd expected the furniture to be worn too, but it was unexpectedly magnificent. They couldn't put nails in the walls because the ancient plaster would crack and fall off, more than it had already, but she had pretty, lightweight posters put up with clear reusable tape. The doors were taken off the upper cabinets, and her plates were placed in wire racks, bowls and glasses upside down on a wire riser. He recognized anti-cockroach measures when he saw them. There were pretty little rugs on the floor and colorful towels on a drying rod screwed into the end of the kitchen cabinet. The clothesline was present. "It's cozy here. You've got some nice pieces," he said, and she wouldn't meet his eye. She had a six drawer step cabinet, hand forged iron corner protectors and drawer pulls, aged wood. A half moon table with gracefully curved, carved legs and a marble top by the door where she set her keys. An interesting Art Deco piece that had a small wardrobe with a mirror on the door of one side and an integrated bureau with five drawers, original hardware on the other side. A solid, snug, beautiful wood sleigh bed, a carved Asian screen to partition the studio apartment. A shiny chrome kitchen table and two chairs, like from an old diner. A wood valet folding chair and a dining room chair, used as bedside tables, and a comfortable leather sofa, the most modern-looking of the furniture.

"Well, I'm a thief," she said after blowing out a lungful of air, and that piqued his interest. "After the Snap, there were all these houses empty. People were scavenging almost from the start. Later, I went for a rummage myself, salvaging the furniture. It seemed like a real shame to let such beautiful pieces go to ruin. A lot of people were doing it, not that it's an excuse. The food, jewelry and valuables went first; furniture wasn't as big a deal. There wasn't a big market for it. But I had a storage unit, my sister and I got one together before she left, and I kept things for awhile, then there was more demand once things had stabilized and I started selling. I kept the pieces I liked most in the storage unit, and the resale provided enough money for me to live and get this apartment. Nobody knew that the Snap could be undone. I feel bad now that many people have come back, but I don't even remember where I got them. And I can't return what I sold."

"Well, there was an amnesty for looters, at least in the city," Bucky said gently. They'd all had to catch up with what had happened while they were dust bunnies. "A lot of it would have been ruined anyway, in five years of disrepair, no pest control. It would have been a shame." He gently patted her shoulder with his right hand.

"What about you? What were you before the Snap?"

"I was a cop first," he said slowly. "Then I went into the Army, where I was a marksman. It messed me up." She nodded.

"You don't have to say more if you don't want. I noticed you don't move your left arm much. I just figured you were injured at some point." It was his turn to nod. He'd developed the habit of treating it like it wasn't functional in public, knowing that people would understand his desire to conceal it under long sleeves and a glove.

"I have a prosthetic. I don't like to show it."

"You won't be bothered about it," she said, and he relaxed a bit. "People tend to keep to themselves here, you don't have to talk if you don't want." She hesitated a moment. "Do you have any family?"

"No, they died before the Snap," he said, summarizing things neatly, he felt. "My best friend since we were kids was just like a brother, though. We were both in the military. He wasn't Snapped, I was... I was counting on him after the Unsnappening, but he... just said goodbye and left to chase after a woman he'd known once."

"He didn't stay to help get you acclimated?" Her voice was incredulous.

"No, I think Steve figured others would help. And they did. But it wasn't the same."

"All that history, you think that he'd have your back." Her voice was sharp and judgmental, and he wondered what it would be like to have somebody like that as his friend.

"Yeah. Uh, well, I'll get out of your hair," he said awkwardly.

"You're not a bother," she said, smiling, softening. "I'll let you know if I need some solitude."

"Well, I need to get going anyway." He wasn't sure if this was an invitation to stay, but he had some surveillance to conduct plus there was a meeting, and said good night. He kept his mind on business; it wouldn't do to be surprised while he was working, but when he got out to the Avengers complex, he found himself thinking about her. He didn't say anything, but Sam noted a certain light brightening in his demeanor from Supercell Thunderstorm back a notch to a Multicell Thunderstorm. Perhaps erroneously, he attributed this to the removal of stressors like Pepper Potts, who had carried over her husband's grudges from his life, as well as a growing adjustment to modern life, and anonymity. An increasing affinity for independence. The Winter Soldier was a big topic before the Snap; now nobody cared.

Bucky's good mood from the meeting received a blow when he got home; the heater in his studio had gone on the fritz. Newer heaters, like microwaves, were forbidden in the old building because the power draw blew the frail circuits. His eyes narrowed in frustration; the night was cold and he was chilled from the ride back from the Avengers compound despite his cold-weather riding clothes. Then the ghost of a smile traced his lips and he went two doors down the hall and knocked. Ava opened her door and smiled. "Jim. How are you tonight?'

"My heater died, I think. Sorry for just barging in." He hadn't really needed to; the forecast wasn't calling for the temperature to go below freezing, and he was used to the cold, anyway.He could have made do, might still have to.

"It's no trouble. Nobody wants to sleep in a freezing cold apartment," she said. "Let me get some tools." She invited him in. For all her talk, her apartment wasn't very warm either, but the cost of energy was sky high. He picked up a box that was half out of a shopping tote. It was a clear plastic film that you taped over windows, hit it with a hairdryer; it shrunk to provide some insulation against winter drafts.

"You might want to get some for your windows too," she advised, turning back to him with two handsful of tools. "It gets really drafty when the winds hit this side of the building. The windows are single-pane too, there's not much insulation. Every little bit helps."

"Where do you get them?"

"At the grocery," she said, following him into the hall and locking her door. They went to his apartment and she went over to the heater. "They sell out fast, though." She looked at the appliance, her hands moving quickly and competently in a way that suggested great familiarity with the heaters and their defects. "Yeah, this isn't a problem. I can get it working, but it needs a new cord too. I'd appreciate it if you could get it tomorrow, I'll change it out. Nobody wants the building to burn down."

"Now, that would be... not neighborly," he said, and she grinned at him. She used a couple of tools, then turned it to the lowest setting. Meager heat emitted after it had a chance to warm up.

"This looks nice," she said, looking around. "Monochrome is chic." It was kind of her to say; the white and gray was, after her apartment, boring and sterile.

"I'll buy the cord tomorrow," he promised, and she told him that if he went to a hole-in-the-wall hardware store nearby and told the salespeople what he needed, they'd sell him the right kind for the ancient heaters. That was helpful. He had a highly specialized and elite skillset, but that was for assassination and retrieval rather than appliance repair. "I could owe you a favor, or I could do something for you," he said, realizing that they hadn't talked about this. "I noticed that you have the standard crappy locks here. If you got a new lockset, I could install it for you. Deadbolts too, if you want." She looked intrigued.

"There's a real community here for people who want it, but not everybody does. Some people you have to be wary of. I've never replaced a lock, and I didn't want to risk drilling holes in the door and jamb in case I messed things up."

"It's an expense for a good lock, but if you'd prefer, I can install them as you get them," he said, awkwardly aware that she might not have room in her budget for them.

"I appreciate that," she said, a little relieved.

"Are you working this weekend?" he asked to change the subject. Usually she worked Friday and Saturday nights, a six hour shift and an eight hour shift.

"Yep," she confirmed. "Are you going to swing by for a drink?"

"Yeah, my friend Sam will be meeting me." Or he would be; Bucky would have to call him right after she left and ask the favor. He didn't feel like he really wanted to be mistaken for a creeper, tucked away at a table and trying not to stare at her. Or be a solo drinker, even though he'd never managed to get drunk after the initial treatments that Zola had given him. "Do you know any way to get internet service here? Wifi doesn't work." She flashed her smile again.

"Ethernet," she said, and he looked blank. "You can get a cable at the hardware store too. It's thick and yellow. The jack is right... let's see... over here. Most laptops are still ethernet compatible, a relief. Sometimes I bring work home at night and I'd be sunk without it. It's the biggest upgrade that was made in the last twenty years. Well, that and the WiFi router in the lobby. The WiFi is the biggest luxury here. Well, that and the hot water heaters. They're enormous."

"That makes me feel better," he said.

"Do you stream tv shows and movies on your laptop? Missing Netflix?" she asked. He wasn't sure what Netflix was, hadn't cared to look it up what sounded frivolous, but he'd heard people referencing it.

"Netflix and chill," he said, then worried what he'd said when surprise and a few other emotions flashed across her face.

"Well, you'll be up and running in no time," she said. "See you tomorrow, I'll fix the heater cord. I might not be able to get the new doorknob until the weekend."

"Whenever's convenient for you," he said, and held the door for her. He waited until he heard her door close and snuck down the hall to the stairs so that he could call Sam from the lobby. When he got there, there were several residents there. The drug dealers were going out again; Matt had identified them for him, along with the gang members, and a pair of prostitutes and their pimp. It was definitely a live-and-let-live environment, and Matt, coming home from work, introduced him to the leaders of the first two floors. Bucky was professional, and one of the gang members volunteered the information that they would take care of any troublemakers on the property, residents only had to ask.

"It benefits them too," Matt said. "Cops don't like to come down, but they have to if there's a big enough ruckus. This way they don't get hassled and the rest of us leave them in peace too. They do their business out of the building. It's as safe as you can get in this neighborhood."

Everybody nodded at each other, and Bucky leaned on the door of the decommissioned elevator out of the way of the mailboxes and door and pulled out his phone to text rather than have what was probably going to be a conversation that would made him look and feel stupid.

BB: Sam?

Sam Wilson: SUP

BB: Are you free Friday night?

SW: Got a job? TMYL

BB: What? I want to go to that bar again.

SW: Dive bar? Rly?

BB: Yes. Are you available?

SW: Yeah. Nice that ur going 2 b social, willingly.

BB: I also have a question. What's 'Netflix and chill?'

SW: Old slang for asking a woman over. Code for a booty call.

BB: What?

SW: SiS. Asking a woman over to watch movies but intent is to have sex.

SW: ...

SW: Buck?

SW: What did you do.

BB: SNAFU.

SW: WHT????

BB: I may have insinuated this to my nice neighbor. Shit.

SW: ROTFL.

BB: What?

SW: Will explain l8r. Unless u want to netflix/chill w/her, just don't bring it up again. Will b fine. YOLO tho.

SW: CU Fri 8 pm dive bar.

Bucky cringed, nervously swiped his right hand over his face. She probably thought he was a pervy old guy. He turned, rolling his shoulders along the wall, to go upstairs, then leaned on his shoulder and brought up a search engine on his phone. Netflix. Online streaming service, movies and TV. Oh, hey. They had Casablanca. He'd always wanted to see that. Well, until Hydra got hold of him, anyway, then he'd sort of forgotten about it. And The Wizard of Oz. The Adventures of Robin Hood, with Errol Flynn. The 39 Steps. His Girl Friday. Frankenstein. Bringing Up Baby. The Thin Man movies. He could watch on his computer, once he got the ethernet cable. Or they still shipped DVDs. The movies might hang up on ethernet, though, according to their stated system requirements. Did his computer have a DVD drive? Could he buy an external drive, or a laptop with the drive?

He needed to go shopping tomorrow.

His phone chimed once as he started for the stairs. It was a link that Sam sent to some website that had translations for the acronyms he'd used in the texts. Text me your location, snickering in silence, rolling on the floor laughing--why would anybody do that?--you only live once. Well, that was patently untrue. Bucky huffed out a breath as he climbed the stairs, wondering when he'd gotten to be such an old fogey.


	4. When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy

The next day, Bucky went to the hardware store as soon as it opened and obtained the power cord for the heater. Ava had been right; they knew exactly what he'd need. They also sold him the ethernet cable, and he went on to make some other stops, including an electronics store, where he was able to find an external DVD player, and the grocery store. It was a pain not to have an oven; he could have made roasts that would feed him for a couple of days or other multi-serving meals. The best he could do was a toaster oven. Even there, he had to comply with the power restrictions in his lease, which meant that his new one was small.

When he got home, he saw an elderly woman being helped down the stairs. He'd met Mrs Alvarez on occasion, once helping her up the stairs with her shopping. The middle-aged man with her, holding bags of clothing, was her son, he knew. Mrs Alvarez saw Bucky as she scanned the lobby.

"Young man!" she called to him, and obediently he crossed the lobby to her. It amused him slightly to be called a young man; in elapsed time out of cryo, he was about 30, 35 years old. Elapsed age in total, he was older than this woman.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You know Ava, I think?" He nodded.

"Yes, she lives a couple of doors down from me. She's going to fix my heater tonight." Mrs Alvarez smiled.

"She's a good girl. Please give her this." She offered him a small white box that was surprisingly heavy. "I have to leave. The rent increase." Bucky nodded.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know Ava will be upset that she missed you."

"Oh, it's deliberate. This is been my home for twenty years, and I'm a little emotional. It's easier this way."

"She's going into a nursing home," her son said, his face sagging. "I wish that you'd come live with us, Mama. Four people in a room designed for two there," he said to Bucky.

"You have a full house as it is, Hector," she said gently. "And while it will be crowded, I'll get three meals a day and I will be all right." The old woman looked around once more, then glared at the super, who had followed them down the stairs.

"Can't do anything about it, Marla," he said, not sounding too sorry. "Gentrification is coming, the owner wants the building empty. Rent increases until everybody leaves without a fuss." The other three scowled at him, and realizing that they were not sympathetic to his issues, Stan retreated to his apartment. The man helped his mother out the door and into the chilly wind. Bucky went up the stairs to his place. He put away his shopping, did some work, grateful to be able to use his computer in the apartment, then when he stopped for lunch, signed up for a Netflix account and ordered some DVDs. He'd start with classics, then ask Sam for recommendations. Or maybe Ava. His mind shied away from that, though, after the probable embarrassment of the whole 'Netflix and chill' thing. That was no way to treat a respectable woman. Even as a young man who was highly sought after before the war, he'd always dated a woman several times, attentive, taking her nice places, before finding his way between her thighs.

He put the computer into sleep mode when he heard the tap on the door, and a quick glance through the peephole revealed his neighbor. "I got the cord," he said, inviting her in.

"Great," she said, and turned for the heater. Bucky thought she looked tired.

"Can I get you something?" he asked as she sat on the floor and opened the cord kit. "I'm just having sandwiches for dinner, but you're welcome to join me." She looked at him and smiled.

"That would be great, thanks," she said. "I won't have to rush to get ready for work."

As Bucky made sandwiches with roast beef from a deli, a lick of horseradish, lettuce on a hearty multigrain bread and quickly sliced up tomatoes and cucumbers for a simple salad, she competently changed out the cord and tested the heater to make sure it worked. She sat down at his table with him and sighed in pleasure after her first bite. "I don't remember the last time I had beef," she said. "Forget changing the lock, I owe you a favor for this. A big one."

"I don't understand why things are so expensive," he said. "After theUnsnappening, I was appalled to see how much prices had increased. Things cost at least three times what they did." The beef had been twenty dollars a pound. It was good that his salary from the Avengers was so lucrative. "And no, you don't owe me anything. It's nice to have the company." And it was.

"Thank you," she said, looking pleased. At the meal or at him, he couldn't tell. "Well, after the Snap, half the population was gone, half the crops, half the cattle and pigs and poultry. That meant roughly half the hands to work on the farms and the ranches. The news showed these vast fields where patches of the vegetation were just gone, like they'd never been there. Stretches of dirt, gaps in orchards. Immediately, the perishables ran out. Homes were broken into, people searching for food or things that could be sold for food. Interstate transportation, which is how most of the food was moved around the country before, was also halved, gas prices went way up. You see the problem." He nodded. "Martial law was imposed in all the bigger cities to help prevent looting until food started to get back into the markets. And things had just really stabilized when the Unsnappening happened. Suddenly, the population almost doubled, but the food supply didn't, the plants and crops were returned, but since the two snaps didn't happen at the same time of year, a lot of them were lost. It's going to take a year or two more to get full production back." He nodded. He'd thought about the problems from the return of the dust bunnies but not from the first snap.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want, but why is an engineer living here?" he asked, offering her the salad. "I was going to put in garlic and onions as well, but I didn't know if you'd want that since you have to work."

"How thoughtful," she said, then her face fell into her normal expression, which was both nice and a little remote. She spooned some onto her plate, carefully not taking too much, and ate a few bites with relish. "Well, before the Snap, the infrastructure was already stressed." He nodded. It hadn't been a priority in any budget, and patches to problems were applied when they got too acute rather than thinking ahead and strengthening and expanding the infrastructure. "After the Snap, the problem was that half the tax base had vanished, along with a lot of people who knew how to fix the roads, airport runways, all that. So the infrastructure continued to deteriorate, and the money went into the materials to keep commerce flowing and the manpower to do that work. Engineers were still needed, but there wasn't enough money to pay much. Still isn't, they say. Now we have to make the infrastructure work for a doubled population and worse, companies have seen that they can get people to work for far less than before the Snap. Before, a civil engineer like me with a masters degree and several years' experience could make about a hundred thousand a year. I make just over forty thousand, net pay just under two thousand a month due to the taxes. And although Congress finally voted to increase taxes on the wealthy--where all the money was and is--and reduce those on the lower classes, that won't go into effect until next year, and the wealthy have all these months to move their accounts to tax havens, protect their assets. It's not going to help much. There aren't any penalties for tax dodgers."

"Where do you work now?"

"The city. Before that, I worked for Damage Control. The pay's about the same, but my medical insurance is much better--my copays went from $80--in network--to $30. And I have dental and vision too. I've got applications out, though. There are some better jobs, they're just incredibly hard to get." She finished her salad as Bucky thought that over. "What is it that you do, Jim?"

"Corporate security," he said. It was true, just not the best descriptor.

"That sounds interesting," she said, looking like she meant it. "But I imagine your work is confidential." He nodded. "So what is a guy like you doing in a place like this?" She looked at him through her lashes before drinking her water.

"A guy like me?" he asked, a little panicked. What did she know?

"Well, you go to some lengths to blend in, but your clothes aren't inexpensive. You have new furniture, although none of it's terribly expensive, it's not cheap either. You don't quibble about a thirty dollar cord to fix the heater or a twenty-five dollar ethernet cable. And, critically, you can afford to feed a neighbor a very expensive sandwich. You look like you can do better than this, I guess is what I'm saying."

"Uh--" he didn't think she was that perceptive; people who had their own problems usually didn't have the energy to pay so much attention to others. "Before I forget, Mrs Alvarez asked me to give you this. She moved out today." He got the box for her.

"Damn it! I wanted to say goodbye." Diversion successful.

"She didn't want a fuss. It was hard enough for her to leave," he said quietly as she opened the box. She nodded, then smiled a little.

"She made fudge," she said wistfully, offering him some after picking a card off the top. "Aw, she gave me her recipe. She was really smart; right after the Snap, she loaded up on chocolate and coffee, because they're imported. A couple of times last year, she paid her rent with four batches of fudge a month. She was running out, she said." He bit into the piece he'd taken. It was rich and creamy, and he smiled. It tasted like how he remembered his mother making it. And if beef was expensive, chocolate, which had just returned to the shelves, was priced at about seventy dollars a pound. "I should get a safe for this," she joked, savoring her own piece.

"The super said that the owner was going to raise rents until everybody left. They want to gentrify the place," he said glumly. He sighed, and she briefly closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. "The Snap was traumatic for everybody who was left," he finally said. "But being a dust bunny wasn't easy either. I came back, found that most of my stuff was gone, aside from a few keepsakes my best friend kept. We'd been friends since we were kids, served in the Army together. He was there when I got this injury." He gestured toward his shoulder. "I trusted him with my life. But he'd changed in those five years. It was like somebody else was wearing his face. A week after the Unsnappening, he left, chasing a woman he'd had a crush on once, like seventy years ago." Whoops. Hadn't meant to be that specific, but she looked like she thought it was just hyperbole. "Haven't heard from him since."

"My sister is kind of like that," she said after squeezing his right hand. "Neither of us was Snapped, but our parents were killed immediately afterward in the chaos. She's eight years older than I am, though, and out of med school at the time. She's brilliant, finished college in three years, so she was out of school entirely in seven years, she's a GP, her residency was three years. Then she joined Doctors Without Borders, which was something she'd wanted to do for as long as I can remember, she's got a very strong streak of public service. A couple weeks ago, she had me clear out the storage space, I could keep what I wanted and she gave me a cut of the proceeds for selling everything else. She didn't say explicitly, but I don't think she's coming back here when she's done. And she's the only family I have." She shook her head. "God, I hope I get one of those jobs I applied for. I signed my lease, so I have some time. I've got to pick up the pace. I'd love to get down to one job again. It's a cold, hard world out there."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Where did that come from?

"No. Not since college. He was Snapped. He'd been going down to North Carolina to interview for a job, get some experience in the Research Triangle before applying to grad school. He was on a plane... then, when the Unsnappening happened, he fell several thousand feet from a plane that had taken off from JFK five years before and was no longer in the air. It took the city a couple months to run the DNA from all of the people who had been killed like that, falling from the sky. Hit in traffic accidents, just being where they shouldn't. He'd put me down as an emergency contact because his parents lived in Vermont..." She paused a moment. "But after the Snap, I was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, getting through each day. Now, I'm just busy. And to be frank, it's just really hard to want to connect with somebody. What if there's another Snap? I stopped following the news very carefully unless I heard of something big, it all seems to be bad news these days, and nobody was very explicit about what caused the two snaps, just some alien." Bucky tried to find something to say but failed completely. "So that's me. What about you? Girlfriend?"

"No." His tongue came unstuck. "The things that happened to me after I joined the Army. I have nightmares." He thought of Sam, who kept trying to help him. "I'm not... I look back at myself. I used to be popular, fun. Liked a good time. Now, I can't relate to who that man was. It's like he's a whole different person. And my arm. Or lack of it. There's a lot of scarring at the shoulder. It's a lot to expect some poor woman to put up with." He was surprised that all this came pouring out of him. He didn't even talk about these things with Sam, who was about the only person left in his life who he could call a good friend. 

She checked her watch. "I hate to eat and run, but I've got to get ready for work," she said reluctantly. She picked up her box of fudge and offered him an additional piece. He stood with her and walked the ten steps to the door, opening it for her. "Thanks for dinner. You're a good listener."

"You too," he said. She smiled at him and left. He cleaned up after the meal, washing and drying the dishes, sweeping up. The cockroaches were still at bay, but he didn't want to give them any reason to be interested in his place. His place. Like he had a place in the world again. He thought about that as he tidied. He hung the dishtowel and looked around. It was small and shabby, but it was an anchor in a world he still found puzzling sometimes. Familiar. He understood his work just fine and was still an elite professional. It was the rest of it that was weird. Social mores, the whole way of life was vastly different from when he'd felt his life was still in front of him, his best friend by his side, a good job, a wife and kids in the near future--after he'd played the field enough, met the right woman. He'd noted changes in technology and society each time he was brought out of cryo for a mission, so it wasn't the hugest shock. Sometimes he felt like sitting in the corner and never coming out, but he'd been given a second chance, bought at great expense, and he felt that he needed to make something of it. He hit the shower, using the sandalwood hair products and a rich scentless soap. It was made with goat milk, which he liked. A memory from his recovery in Wakanda. He'd found it on Etsy; he valued hand-made things in this age of mass production. He took the time to style his hair using Matt's instructions. He was just meeting Sam, after all, but... he felt disinclined to examine every little impulse he had. It was a control issue; he'd spent much of his life considering the impact of everything he did, every squeeze of his index finger. Well, now he could relax. There were times when he didn't need to be so hyper-vigilant.

He pulled on his jeans, a dark blue sweater, shoes with a silent crepe sole out of habit, and his black leather jacket, locked his place, and headed off to the bar. He was slightly early, but Sam had already arrived. With Wanda. That was unexpected. He joined them cautiously.

"I heard that Sam was meeting you for drinks and invited myself along," she said, smiling disarmingly. "Wow. Your hair looks amazing. You're the Avengers' hottest analyst."

"Is that all?" Bucky asked Sam, convinced it was not.

"I asked if she could take a look at this woman. Just superficially, you know, see if she's trustworthy," Sam said placatingly. He knew Bucky would leave if he wasn't up-front about his reasoning. He still might; he had real trust issues, even worse after Steve left, and he hadn't asked for the help. He was kind of surprised when Bucky sat down. Maybe this was a test for him to see if his judgment of a person's character was reliable. Sam hoped it was.

"I think that she is," Bucky said. Sam glanced over Bucky's shoulder and smiled.

"Is that her?" Wanda asked curiously, turning a little to see too. "She's pretty." Bucky grunted.

Five minutes later, a hand deposited a basket of peanuts on the table. "Hi there," a brisk alto said, and Wanda looked up. Their server wore a closely fitting black cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone to just above her bra, revealing enough cleavage to increase her tips. Every now and then you could see a slice of skin between the hem of her shirt and her pants as she moved, just below her navel. Her black pants were inexpensive but fit well. "Sorry about the wait," the woman said. "We're down a waitress for a bit, she's running late. What can I get you to drink?"

"Bud light," Sam said defiantly. He took a lot of crap from his teammates for his taste in beer, but he liked it.

"And you, miss?"

"Irish coffee?"

"We can do that. What about you, Jim?" Wanda's eyes opened wide, surprised, and looked from the waitress to Bucky. The waitress looked a little confused, but refocused on Bucky. Or Jim. Whoever. Sam nudged Wanda under the table, distracting her before she could ask questions.

"Stout," he said.

"Coming right up," she said. "Do you want to run a tab?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said immediately, pulling out a credit card. She departed, stopping at a couple more tables as she made her way to the bar.

"Jim?" asked Wanda.


	5. But still the warmth flows through me, and I sense you know me well

"I want to fit in," Bucky said tersely. "Be anonymous." Wanda closed her mouth with a snap.

"So what's going on?" Sam asked, keeping an eye on the waitress. "She seems nice."

"She is," Bucky said briefly. "Smart, really competent."

"You should ask her out," Wanda said, knowing that Bucky wouldn't without a gentle nudge. Or a massive shove.

"She wouldn't go out with me. She's not dating. She wasn't a dust bunny, she lived through it all, she's got trauma."

"So does everybody, man," Sam said, leaning back. "You've got a lot of company." Despite his abrasive words, his tone was gentle. "Thank you," he said as the woman set his pint on the cocktail napkin in front of him. A glass mug, steaming gently, was placed in front of Wanda, then the pint of stout in front of Bucky. The other two also thanked the waitress, who smiled, patted Bucky's shoulder absently, and moved on to the next table.

"She's into you," Wanda said immediately. Bucky hissed at her, eyes darting toward his neighbor in panic, but it didn't look like she'd overheard. Wanda waited for her to move on again, then leaned over her part of the table. Sam leaned in too, interested, and Bucky felt he had to as well, so as not to be left out. "She's attracted to you," she said more quietly. "Thinks you're handsome and interesting. She's tired--no, she's weary, there's a thread of hopelessness, she's curious about things which is tempered by fatigue, and there's this sort of fuzzy spark when she sees you." Bucky, surprisingly, blushed. Sam smirked. "And that's all I'm going to look for." She sat back.

The men also leaned away from the table, and Bucky sipped his stout. Guinness imports from Ireland had ceased since the Snap although apparently there were plans to start up again now that the work force necessary for brewing and transportation were largely back. The hold-up was in the fields--the grains took time to grow--and the mechanisms of transportation--a lot of ships had sunk after the Snap and more had been decommissioned before the Unsnappening. But this locally brewed stout was pretty good. Wanda smiled as she sipped her coffee, and Sam looked pleased with his mass-produced beverage. Bucky shook his head.

"What?" Sam asked defensively. "At least it isn't Coors, that stuff's nasty. That stout's practically a meal, you almost have to chew it."

"I need the calories," Bucky said airily. "Metabolism means that I can eat anything." His lips curled up at the corners, and Sam rolled his eyes. Sam could not eat anything he wanted if he wanted to maintain the sculpted six-pack abs he was so proud of. Wanda asked them innocuous questions, and they were having a good conversation when the waitress showed up again.

"Another round?" she asked, replacing the peanut basket.

"Yes, please," Wanda said, and shortly the woman reappeared with fresh drinks, skillfully whisking away their empties. This time Wanda kept an eye out, and when she saw the waitress set her tray on the bar, take off her apron, and go down the corridor that led to the alley and the bathrooms, she took a quick peek into her mind, enough to see that she was headed outside into the chilly night air for her break. "I'll be back," Wanda told her companions, and made her way to the alley door. It was propped open very slightly with a rock.

"Sorry to startle you," she said to the waitress, who was sitting in a battered plastic chair, rotating her feet. "I just... wanted a quick chat with you."

"About what?" the woman said pleasantly.

"B- Jim, actually. I knew him before the Snap. I get the feeling that you might be interested." The mental tension that emanated from the woman matched the tight expression on her face. "I'm not here to warn you off or threaten you. It's just some information you need. If you are interested in him, you need to be patient. He was damaged before the Snap and he's had a bad shock since returning. You might want to do a little research," she said impulsively, feeling the other's mind fall into patterns, considering the problem, along with concern. "PTSD."

"He said he was a veteran, I think a combat veteran." Wanda nodded encouragingly.

"I won't tell you what happened, I don't know it all myself and it should come from him anyway. My name's Wanda, by the way." A test to see if she recognized the two Avengers she'd been serving.

"Ava. It's nice to meet you." The woman's tension was gone now that Wanda wasn't delivering bad news, and she genuinely meant what she said.

"I've got to get back," Wanda said.

"See you around." Wanda nodded.

"Most likely." She slipped back through the door.

Ten minutes later, Ava came back in, picked up her tray, and made her way through her section of the room. Bucky and Sam had another round, but Wanda switched to water.

"So where'd you go?" Sam asked Wanda when Bucky had excused himself.

"Alley. Told her that she'd need to be patient with him, a little girl talk."

"You think she'll hang in there?"

"There's a time constraint; the owner of the apartment building is raising rents until nobody can afford them anymore. But he's got about a year, if she stays put. That should be enough time. Her name's Ava. She's nice. Kind." Sam grinned.

But Bucky returned before he could say anything, and they finished up their drinks. "I think we're ready to close out our tab," Sam said the next time that Ava came by. She returned the card and receipt promptly, and Sam added a generous tip.

"See you," Bucky said to her, flipping some hair out of his eyes. Something had gone wrong there with his styling, he thought.

"It's bound to happen," Ava said with a smile and another pat on the shoulder. The trio got up, putting on their coats on the way to the door, and she efficiently cleared the table and wiped it before moving on.

"Ask her out," Sam said once they were outside. "She's pretty, she's nice, she's interested in you. You're a smart guy, make a plan and execute it." Wanda just kissed his cheek and the two of them went the opposite way to get a cab. Bucky faded into the night.

The next day, there was some very particular research being done by two residents of The Shithole. Ava looked up the basics on PTSD and mental illnesses commonly suffered by combat veterans.

Bucky researched fun, inexpensive dates. If she agreed to go out with him--and it felt like a pretty big if, despite what Wanda said--he didn't want to seem to be pressuring her into anything by taking her to do something expensive. Which was a lot of traditionally fun dating activities, these days. It was chilly now at the middle of October, and he wanted to do something fun and active.

He waited til midmorning the next day, then walked soundlessly down the hall to her apartment, pausing to listen. His enhanced hearing heard her moving around. It sounded like she was cleaning. He knocked.

He was surprised to feel a little thrill when her eyes lit up after she opened the door. "Come in," she said, and stepped back to let him in. She was wearing dark green flannel pants and a fleece top, her hair in a messy bun. She had sections of PVC pipe and elbow joints on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, hoping that it wasn't too personal a question.

"We're supposed to have a colder than average winter this year," she said, and shivered. "There's like zero insulation in the walls, and I heard somewhere that hanging quilts on the wall helps. We can't do anything to the walls, so I'm making these frames that will fit between the ceiling and floor. And it will keep the quilts about two inches away from the walls, so that actually will provide some insulation. It's not the most effective thermal insulation, but it's better than nothing." He looked around and saw a pile of quilts stacked on the chair. She had one full wall to cover, plus the walls with the windows, and doors to the hall and her bathroom.

"Did you make these?" She smiled.

"No, I don't really know how to sew beyond fixing hems and reattaching buttons. Some of them were made by my dad's grandma--my sister didn't like them so they're all mine--and I bought the others at garage sales."

"Want a hand?" he asked absently, and when she accepted, helped her assemble the frames--giant free-standing rectangles--and drape the quilts over them, securing them with safety pins, before carefully fitting them into place. She'd measured precisely, and each frame was sized specifically for its place, just barely wedged into place to avoid putting too much pressure on the ancient plaster of the ceiling. He helped her pull the furniture out from the walls, then slid them back after the installation.

"It looks a little wild," she said ruefully, looking around. "But I like it." The heater kicked on at the low speed. "Ok, right now it's 63 degrees Fahrenheit. The heater is on the cycle that achieved this temperature, so now I'll wait and see what happens. Check the temperature each hour." Bucky smiled.

"Tapestries were used during the middle ages for the same purposes," he said. Ava's face was interested, and he blushed. "I like history. Science and technology, too."

"Very helpful," she said. "I like history too, but more on the modern end of the spectrum. What would your top three lessons from history be?" Bucky thought about this.

"Never invade Russia in the winter, although with climate change, this might not be as hard and fast a rule. Don't get into a land war in Southeast Asia, aaand... the past is never as far behind you as you think," he said. His tone turned serious at the last.

"Interesting." And she did look like she had something to think about. She asked if he'd have a seat, and quickly tidied things away from the construction project. "It's interesting. The quilts are also cutting down on sound transference." It did seem more hushed, but not in an old library way, where the librarians glared at you for noise transgressions, but peaceful, kind of cozy. She sat down at the other end of the sofa and passed him an afghan, curling up under one herself. He felt stiff and out of place.

"I came to ask if you'd go out with me. On a date." Internally, he winced. He used to be a lot smoother.

"And I put you to work instead. That was nice of me," she said, amused. "I'd like to do that."

"Really?" He was so surprised that he looked her directly in the eyes. He didn't miss the way that her pupils dilated and was slightly reassured. That kind of response to stimuli is irrepressible.

"Yes," she said, and she smiled broader.

"I'm interested in you," he blurted out (inside his brain, his old suave memories were cringing and shouting at him,) "But I don't really... I'm not sure it would be a good idea for you to be drawn into my mess."

"I don't suppose you'd like to flesh that out with a few more details?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. "Just what you feel comfortable talking about."

"I'm a veteran." She nodded. "I was a POW. And I was tortured." She flinched slightly but didn't otherwise react. "I feel like I'm in the wrong period of time, actually. I want a new life. I'm not sure how to do things. Or if I should. Or how to go about it." His voice was tight and a little higher than usual. "I don't really remember the last time I was with a woman."

He stopped, and she waited, apparently just to make sure he was done talking. "I'm sorry for the things that were done to you. I can't imagine what that's like."

"Good," he muttered, and she smiled briefly, then scooted a little closer.

"It kind of amazed me that even after the snap, we could still keep the military in the field in the Middle East, Afghanistan. But there aren't any rigid rules for dating, if it makes you feel better. I know what you mean about a new life. I want to move past what's happened, but I don't really know how to do it. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to be messed up for the rest of my life. I guess the way to proceed is just one action at a time." She licked her lips. "I have years of negative tests for STIs, just for your information. I don't know if we'll end up in bed together, but it's information you need to have."

He cleared his throat. "Uh, I only have results from one physical, when I was Unsnapped. I didn't have anything."

"So where are we going on our date? When is it, anyway?" she was back to looking peppy. It kind of gave him mental whiplash, but it put him back on firm ground.

"I thought it would be fun to go apple picking," he said. "There are orchards outside the city, and this year it's still peak season. We could go any time." He'd make sure his schedule was cleared any time she could get away.

"Next Saturday?" she asked. "I already asked for the night off. I can't take too much time off, but I'm doing ok and I wanted a huge indulgence. Take a break, have the night off my feet. So we wouldn't have to rush back."

"That sounds great," he said, and his smile had the echo of the confident grin that women used to swoon for.

"And I had a thought. About adult activities," she said. He was back to being nervous, trying not to sweat. This kind of thing was what intellectually he wanted, but in practice kind of terrified him. "So we don't need to stampede to bed, if that's something you'd be interested in eventually. We can just let things happen naturally, or..."

"Or?" He was curious. Cautious but curious.

"There's this game that teenagers play. It's called Seven Minutes in Heaven." She smiled slightly. "Kids select a partner and go into a closet together for seven minutes at a time. They can just wait out the time in silence, talk, or... do something else, then they don't talk about what happened. If you were interested, we could do our own version. Not in a closet, because we're grown ups. But maybe for seven minutes, we could just sit here and kiss. Just light kisses, no touching. Then another time, perhaps a little deeper kissing. Like that. Little steps." She bit her lip, the slight movement drawing Bucky's attention. And it sounded really appealing.

"Ok." She slid down the sofa toward him.

"If at any time you want to stop, just tell me. And I would do the same, and we'll stop immediately." He nodded. It took the pressure off. She checked her watch, turned on the cushion and sat in lotus position. He mirrored her, not sure what else to do, and she eased forward so that their knees were almost but not quite touching. He rested his wrists on his knees, and cautiously leaned forward. She leaned toward him in response, brushing his lips with hers. They kissed gently for several minutes, then he felt her place her fingers over his. He carefully closed his hands, brushing the backs of her fingers with his thumbs. There were a couple of breaks where she checked the time, and after seven minutes, she sat back.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Good," he said promptly. "I like that."

"Good." She smiled hopefully.

"So how do you feel about going to lunch next Saturday, then out to the orchard?"

"That sounds like fun. It's supposed to be nice next week and into the weekend. According to the weather people, anyway." He smiled suddenly.

"Hope they're right," he said. They looked at each other.

"Um... when can we do that again?" he asked. It was a good thing to say. She relaxed.

"Any time you've got seven minutes. I don't want to be greedy, though." He huffed a laugh at the thought that she'd be that into him, but there was a small warm feeling inside him. She walked over to the door.

"See you later," he said, then feeling daring, leaned over to brush his lips over hers. She grinned at him and touched her mouth. He slipped out, hearing the door lock behind him, bemused.


	6. Softly smile, I know she must be kind.

Bucky found himself increasingly looking forward to Saturday. He selected a nice-looking restaurant for lunch, put the GPS coordinates into his phone, and downloaded the directions to the orchard, just in case. The day was supposed to be warm, so he gassed up the motorcycle and washed it, borrowing an extra helmet from work. He worked hard on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings, conducting his surveillance activities and information gathering so that he could stop by Ava's apartment on Tuesday and Thursday night after she'd been home long enough to eat and relax. They talked, getting to know each other as they were now, and when she suggested the game each time, was prompt to agree. On Tuesday, this meant that the kissing was slightly more vigorous, and she introduced a nip to his lower lip that immediately captured his interest. On Thursday, she ran her hands through his hair and used her tongue a little, flicking at his lips. He enthusiastically followed where she went, although as normal, her hair was up in a braided knot. It felt smooth and silky under his fingertips, however.

He was prompt at her door on Saturday, smiling in response to her greeting. When she learned that they were going on his motorcycle, she looked a little apprehensive. "I haven't ridden very much." Shit. He should have anticipated this. He felt like an idiot.

"I can get a car--"

"No, this will be a new experience," she said. "I just have some questions."

"Of course. Whatever I can answer."

"I'm not trying to put you on the spot or question your competence," she said nervously. "But you're ridden with passengers, right?" He flashed back. Normally his passengers had been Hydra operatives on the occasions when he'd worked with another individual or team; he'd had extensive training.

"I have. I have a motorcycle endorsement on my drivers license, and I have insurance," he said promptly. He knew a lot of people didn't bother with either these days. "I have a helmet for you."

"Had any crashes?"

"Not since the Snap, and only a few in the years before. I'm older and wiser now." As he hoped, that made her smile. His Hydra training had included forced accidents so they could see how much trauma he could endure. He decided not to mention this.

He waited patiently as she thought a moment and put a windbreaker over a short jacket suitable for their fall weather, and she rummaged in the armoire, coming up with heavy leather winter gloves.

"How's this?" she asked. He assessed her appearance; she was wearing jeans and what looked like work boots, a sensible choice for a ramble out of doors.

"You look good," he said, and cleared his throat when his voice went husky. She smiled and went up on her toes to give him a light kiss as they moved into the hall. They walked over to the garage, and he asked questions about her week and her work, interested in what a civil engineer actually did. At the bike, he showed her the exhaust system and provided warnings about what not to touch. She looked nervous but put on her helmet. He checked the fit; it was good, and he explained the order of getting on and off the bike, the importance of keeping her feet on the pegs, even at a stoplight. He got on the bike, putting the kickstand up, and she got on behind him.

"During braking or acceleration, you may find yourself being pushed up or back on the seat. don't worry; it's not going to bother me if you slide up against me. If you'd like more control, you can grip with your legs. It happens sometimes that helmets bump, and that's not a problem. Are you comfortable?"

"I am," she said. "It feels kind of weird that my seat is higher than yours, though."

"Good. The thing with the seat is so that you can see past me when we're riding," he said, divining her discomfort. "It's safe, you're not going to go ejecting over the top if we stop hard." He'd guessed right; she looked relieved. "Communication is necessarily limited, but if you pat me, I'll stop. Severity of the problem is dictated by the number of pats; one is 'when convenient' and three is 'urgent.' When we're making turns or going around curves, keep your weight right where it is, lean in to the turn slightly, and I'll take care of the rest. Put your hands on my waist, not my shoulders or arms, because that can impair my driving ability. Any questions or concerns?"

"No, actually, you explained things really well. I'm looking forward to this." Which might mean that she hadn't been. He really should have gone for the car. Too late now. He started the engine and they rolled down the ramp and out onto the street. They had a nice lunch at a bistro. From there, it took twenty minutes to get out of the city, and once they reached a turnoff, he had her get off and walk around a bit. The hips and thighs could hurt if you weren't used to riding. He held her hand as she got back on, and it was another thirty-five minutes to the orchard. When she pulled off her helmet, she looked excited and happy. Whew. Bucky paid their fee at the stand at the front of the orchard, and they were given buckets for collecting the apples. The yield should fit comfortably into the saddlebags on the motorcycle.

This particular orchard had several different varieties of trees, and they ambled around, picking at least a few of each kind. They chatted as they traded going up and down ladders for the fruit, and after an hour went over to another stand where they had apple cider that was fresh pressed in front of them, and ate apple spice cake donuts that were delicious.

By the time they were walking back to the motorcycle, he felt relaxed and comfortable with her, enough to casually take her left hand in his right as they walked along the road. Conversation had been easy and interesting, discovering several commonalities. At the motorcycle, they put on their helmets and stowed their apples. He swung his leg over and held out his hand so she could steady herself as sat down. He'd gotten the bike started and was steering it down the road before he realized that he'd used his left hand for the action and that she hadn't seemed to notice. That it moved like his regular hand. He decided not to fret about it now; it had already happened. And it went completely out of his mind when her hands slipped around his midsection in what might be called a hug and she cozied up to him a bit as they turned back onto the paved road.

This was really nice. Really. Nice.

He focused on driving; paying close attention because he didn't want to be in a position where she was frightened by the traffic. She was tough, he thought, but in an accident, there were no safety features to protect her. And he let himself enjoy the sort-of cuddle. The city came into view too fast.

At the parking garage, they stowed the helmets in the built-in lockers that were the main reason that Bucky had chosen the place, retrieved their apples, and sauntered back to the apartment in the late afternoon sun, chatting about the orchard. She seemed to have enjoyed the outing. As was his habit, he kept vigilant in case there were signs of ambush, but all was calm. He noticed when she casually took his right hand and lightly laced their fingers. In the lobby, they retrieved their mail and as they turned for the stairs, his phone chimed. He checked it and scowled. A text from Sam. There was a meeting tonight, unexpectedly. His attendance was required. Well, he still had some time, and he had a few things to talk to Ava about.

"Everything ok?" she asked as they started up.

"I have a meeting later," he said. "Wasn't planning on it." At her door, he leaned against the wall and looked at her. Her shiny, smooth hair had been disarranged by the helmet, but she didn't seem to care, her face happy and open. "Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?" he asked, feeling like he was pushing his luck.

"Sure," she said, opening the lock. She didn't seem as happy.

He set his apples down just inside the door and automatically helped her out of her jackets, which she separated again and tucked into the armoire. She set her apples in the kitchen and they arranged themselves on the couch.

"I had a great time this afternoon," he said. He exhaled against his nerves. "But--"

"Here it comes," she muttered.

"What? I just..." he floundered briefly. "Ok. I really enjoyed being with you. So you said that we'd talk about... being physical together. It makes me really nervous, but I'd like to ... start."

"Oh, god," she said, putting her hand to her forehead. "I thought you were going to tell me you didn't want to see me anymore."

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, puzzled.

"I dunno, I'm too aggressive, not feminine enough, too fat, too bossy, not interesting enough, too smart--" Bucky looked at her, appalled.

"That's crazy, doll," he said. "I like you just the way you are. Why would you say that?"

"Because those are things that I've heard before."

"Whoever said that's a fathead. But... as much as I want to head toward bed with you, I still have my problems. I don't want to hurt you. Physically or emotionally. Sometimes I have nightmares about what's happened to me. I wake up, kind of flailing around."

"Ok, that's a concern," she said, taking his right hand. "You're seeing a therapist, getting help?" He nodded.

"Things have gotten a lot better, but I'm still worried. My therapist is a lot more confident in me than I am. Says I'm safe, but the only way to find out for sure is to do it, be intimate. Physically. It's risky, because what if they're wrong about me?"

"I understand that, and I'm glad you're concerned about my well-being too. I'm willing to risk it, though. I like you and I'm attracted to you. It's enough for the short term, at least. If it works out... I have some ideas, though. Give me a little time and we can talk about it in more detail." She shot him a wicked look that went straight to his cock. He sat up.

"Don't suppose you have seven minutes available," he said, and she laughed and moved over. This time, for the first time, he took the lead, kissing her more assertively, even touching her face gently with his gloved hand. His flesh hand smoothed along her arm down to her thigh just above her knee, and from there back up to her waist, where his thumb stroked her side.

"Wow," she said, kind of breathlessly after their seven minutes were up. He felt complacent that maybe his old skills were returning and chuffed that he'd managed to please her. He stroked his thumb over her plump lower lip.

"Wish I didn't have to go, Ava," he said regretfully.

"Well, maybe tomorrow we could try for fourteen minutes," she said hopefully.

"That's a goal I can get behind," he said, then reluctantly got up. He noticed a lockset in a plastic clamshell, a good brand, heavy-duty, on the chair. "I'll replace your lock tomorrow. Then we can see how doubling our time in heaven goes."

"Can't wait," she said. She looked enchanting to him, lips red and slightly swollen from the kissing. He went down the hall to his apartment, steps dragging just slightly.

When he put his apples away and got the backpack he'd need to take the spare helmet back to the complex, he was surprised to see that she was locking her door. She smiled at him. "Where are you off to?" he asked, absently offering his arm as they walked down the hall to the stairs.

"Bookstore."

"The big one?"

"Uh-huh. I checked yesterday, they have the book I want." She shot him a teasing look. "And since I have the evening free..."

He groaned, then laughed. "I'd rather still be with you, doll. I can drop you, if you'd like." So they walked back to the garage and she got back on the bike with no hesitation. This time he was conscious of the warmth of her inner thighs against him and wished that the trip was longer. At the bookstore, she handed him the helmet and he put it in his backpack. "I'd rather be headed inside rather than to a da-- to a meeting."

"You like to read?"

"What's not to like? All those worlds, printed out between two covers."

"Maybe this could be our next date," she suggested a little nervously. He grinned.

"Then we could sit around and read together." He laughed at himself. Some exciting date he was.

"I warn you, I like to read the good lines aloud," she warned him, and he laughed out loud.

"Sounds like a date," he said.

"Stop by if your meeting doesn't run too late," she said, and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Yeah," he said, staring at her mouth. "I'll see what I can do to hurry things along." She couldn't manage much, his helmet protected his jaw and restricted access to his face, so she kissed the tip of his nose.

"You do that," she said, and walked into the bookstore. Bemused, he flicked the face shield down and drove into the night.

***

There was a little sliver of light under her door when he came back home around eleven. There was no need to have a meeting on Saturday night, he thought moodily. The Avengers needed to get out some, meet people, have dates so they'd stop horning in on his personal life. He listened intently, heard pages turning, so he knocked softly. He heard the lock opening with flattering speed. She smiled up at him, having changed into her warm at-home clothes, including thick fluffy socks on her feet. "Mission accomplished?"

His smile faltered for a second. In the past, a phrase like that often meant being wiped and popped back into cryo. But she didn't know any of that. "Why they couldn't have waited, I don't know. It wasn't as critical as they made it sound."

"Well, come in so I can show you my book." She took the closest arm--his left--and tugged him inside. He was instantly distracted by her hair; for the first time he'd seen, it was down, a river of silk flowing down her back. It was most often in a braid or up; the only time he'd even seen it in a ponytail was the first day he'd seen her. It was thick, with some shorter layers cut in by her face, like his, a few longer layers in the back. He couldn't help himself; he reached out to stroke his fingers through that shining curtain, feeling somehow that seeing her like this was special.

"Wow," he said softly. She grinned at him over her shoulder, tugging him to the sofa. "Why don't you wear it down more often? It's so beautiful."

"It also gets in the way a lot, it's easier to have it back. And it tangles, I don't like having to work out a lot of knots. I just like to play with it, do different things with it." She patted the sofa by her side and he sat. She picked up a small black book. "So I've been giving your wishes some thought, and this is what I came up with." He refocused. His wishes... he sorted this out. Right. The sex?

"This book is about sex positions," she said, and his eyebrows shot up. So that was a major change in the modern world; when he was young, you couldn't walk into a mainstream bookstore and just buy a book like that without jumping though a lot of hoops and brown paper wrapping. The Comstock Law forbade the use of the US Postal Service for obscene materials like contraception, pornography, sex toys, even letters with sexual content, and another later law had extended this ban to other carriers, making it difficult to obtain materials. There were always some, of course, but the risk carried a criminal record for obscenity and that had mattered a lot back then. "You said that you don't want to hurt me, which I appreciate," her smile gentled. "So the descriptions in this book explain how to do each position, whether penetration is deep or shallow, who does the moving, how much pleasure each partner is likely to get out of it. So I've identified a few positions that are fun, where I can control penetration, if that's what you're worried about. And there are a couple where you can run the show but penetration isn't deep." Bucky looked at her, jaw hanging slack.

"I thought it could be fun to try different things..." her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"It will be," he said hastily. "I -- this is-- it's so thoughtful. Can you show me?" Her smile came back and she moved over so that their sides were touching. She flipped pages to show him the picture of the position and the information. Times certainly have changed, he thought, putting his right arm around her shoulders as they paged through. And this opened up a new alley of uncertainty.

"This looks like a lot of fun," he said. "But I'm going to be honest. It's been a long time since I had sex. I used to think I was pretty good, but now I'm not sure. Maybe the women were just being polite? Everybody seems to know a lot more about sex than they used to."

"Well, once it started to get studied academically, social acceptance was assured once the research hit the mainstream. People may know more, but it's the same motions that people have been doing since there were first people. And who doesn't like sex? It's fun to learn about. Fun to do. It sounds like you were raised pretty strictly, though, this stuff has been available for a while now. We can make some guidelines, too. We can agree on a safe word, and if at any time either of us wants to stop, we just say it and we stop immediately. It takes awhile for two people to get to know each other sexually, what they respond to or what turns them off. It's going to take some experimentation to find that out. And I'm open to negotiation about almost anything," she said gently, and held up the book between them. She looked at him side eye. "I don't want you to feel like I'm pushing you someplace you don't want to be. Or too fast. Tell me if you need me to slow down or don't want to do something. And I'll be honest with you too. I like you, and I look forward to learning more about you when you feel it's safe to tell me. I like getting laid a whole lot, but truthfully, what I'm really hoping for is more of an emotional connection. To feel like I matter to somebody again. If you don't want that, it's fine, we can still have a really good time, but I'd appreciate it if you were up front."

"I'll be as honest with you as I can," he said. "Right now, I'm really interested in you, in the sex, but the intimacy of it kind of scares me." He took a deep breath and let it out. "You do matter to me. I value you. It's just going to be tough to open up." He looked at her through the hair on his face, then impatiently shoved it back. "You got some time for a few minutes in heaven?" She grinned at him and leaned in, but he surprised her, scooping her up and placing her on his lap. She squeaked, then grinned again, adjusting so that she was straddling his thighs, sitting back toward his knees rather than closer to his groin. He grinned too, then smoothed the hair over the back of her head before gently pressing her head toward him for the kiss. This time there were tongues, flirting with each other, and he played with her hair, stroking her back lightly. He leaned back into the sofa cushion, bringing her with him, enjoying the feel of her lightly settled against him.

He broke off the kissing gently. She checked her watch. "Nine minutes," she said, and he stroked her cheek.

"I'd better go," he said regretfully. "I'd like to stay, but I'm just not there yet." She slid off his lap without complaint. "But can I take this with me?" He held up the book.

"For as long as you'd like," she said. Was that a purr? He thought so, yeah.

"I'll be by tomorrow to replace the lock," he said, and stood. She walked with him to the door.

"Sweet dreams," she said. He smiled, following one lock of her hair from roots to tips with his right fingers.

"I'm sure they will be," he said, and reluctantly stepped into the hall.


	7. I woke up in between a memory and a dream

On Sunday, Bucky waited until early afternoon before going over to Ava's apartment. She'd been doing laundry; sheets and towels were pinned to her clothesline. Slowly, giving him time to evade, she wrapped her arms around him, coming in close for the hug. He closed his arms around her too, but he'd been a little late and the hug was over too soon. They chatted as she cut the lock out of its packaging and gave him the appropriate screwdriver from a set she had. He was about to ask whether there was something else she needed done--not likely, she was handy and could actually have done this herself--when his phone rang insistently. He listened, said a few words, and hung up.

"Something at work's come up," he said. "Sorry. I was hoping to spend more time with you, if you were free."

"Well, that would have been fun, but we've got to keep the bosses happy, right?" She reached up and indulged in running her fingers through his hair. He'd taken special care with it, hoping for just this result. "Come by later, though." He dipped his head and kissed her mouth, nipping her lower lip at the end. She grinned. Reluctantly, he left. One of his targets, an important but shielded member of the Serpent Society support team, was on the move. He hoped that the woman was just doing shopping or something, not leaving town.

Luck was with him; he followed the target into Central Park, observing her leaving a flash drive on a park bench--amateur--he wandered over and sat down, the drive a millimeter from his leg. It was a nice day; he sat there for almost an hour, talking to a few people who also sat down, just for the fun of pissing off whoever was waiting to retrieve the drive. The park was crowded and there were plenty of tourists as well as locals. Finally, a group of people who looked like they were here for a convention went by, and he stood, casually palming the drive before working his way through the conventioneers. He slid the drive into his glove and made his way to the nearest path to the street, moving briskly but not hurriedly. He felt hands delicately insert themselves into the pockets of his jacket, and turned abruptly. "Hey!" he barked. "Thief!" The man turned and ran, quickly swallowed up by the crowd. There was nothing in his pockets to take; even his keyring with the apartment and motorcycle keys was in his jeans pocket, and he'd conspicuously put his hands only into his jacket pockets. He started for home. Maybe Ava would go out to dinner with him.

***

"This is it," Sam said, indicating The Shithole. He opened the door and they walked into the lobby. Sam looked around and saw Ava coming down the stairs. She wasn't wearing a coat, just a heavy sweatshirt, so she wasn't going out. She walked over to the mailboxes, removing a decent chunk of mail, and turned to the stairs.

"Hey!" he said, and she turned.

"Hi... Sam, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Hey--"

"Do you know if Bucky's around?" the man with him asked eagerly.

"Who's Bucky?" she asked blankly.

"Jim," Sam inserted quickly. Her eyebrows drew together, like these guys were crazy.

"Who wants to know?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm his friend," the blond man said. "Steve." Her eyes flicked between the two men a few times, not missing Sam looking jaundiced about this statement.

"Steve.... he mentioned a Steve... you wouldn't be the friend who went haring off after the Unsnappening, would you?" Her voice had acquired a bite. A significant snap.

"Uh--"

"Does Jim/Bucky know about this? That he's back?" she asked Sam, who wanted to facepalm.

"No."

"You need to let him know, you can't just hit him with this," she said urgently to Sam.

"I didn't really have a choice," he said flatly.

"Oh, yeah? You're an adult man, right? You can always say no."

"You're right," Sam said, after visibly tamping down a flare of anger. "It's habit."

"Hey," this Steve said. "I'm right here."

"Wow," she said sarcastically. "Too bad you haven't always been right there for your friend. You might look like a human Golden Retriever, but you sure don't have the loyalty."

"You don't know what you're talking about," this Steve said harshly.

"I know some things. And you need to respect him, let him decide whether he wants to see you, under what conditions. It's kind of a dick move to show up here, as if you're expecting to pick things right back up. Like nothing happened." This Steve drew himself up.

"Hey, Charlie," she hailed one of several men who entered the lobby. "Do you know if Manny's around?"

"He's not," the man said with a little drawl. "I can help, though." She jerked her head at Steve.

"This guy is here to harass a resident, who doesn't know that he's back in town." The group of four men looked at Steve in sync.

"I don't want any trouble," he said, holding up his hands.

"Good. Don't come back unless you're accompanied by a resident," Charlie said. The men stared at each other a moment. Sam was wary of the guy; he was one of the drug dealers that Bucky had said protected the place; he'd done a little poking around and found that no few residents had rap sheets; the dealers and gang members had all been under suspicion for murder in other cases but nothing could be proven. Then the men and Ava nodded at each other, and the men went down the hall to the apartments.

"Don't worry, Sam, they wouldn't have killed me," that Steve said matter-of-factly.

"You're immortal?" she asked sarcastically.

"No, just hard to kill. More desperate and better armed men than that have tried." Steve's voice was level and hard.

"Is that a challenge?" she asked, her eyes slit with dislike, putting her hands on her hips. "Give me a little time to think about it."

"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, making palm-down motions. "Nobody's ingenuity needs to be tested, nobody's fighting skill. This is private property, Steve. She's got a good point. I'll break the news of your return first, see what he wants to do." He jerked his head toward the door. "Come on." Reluctantly, the two men headed for the exit. She waited until they were on the street before going upstairs.

***

Bucky almost bounced up the stairs. He'd dropped off the drive at the Avengers compound, after noticing that he didn't have his smartphone with him, and was hoping to spend some time with Ava. She opened the door before he could even knock, and his pleasure at this faded immediately when he saw her sober face.

"What's wrong?" he asked urgently.

"Your pal Sam was here, looking for you. You need to call him." She shook her head. "I don't know the story. Just go make your call. If you want to talk afterward--or not--I'm right here." He hurried down the hall. His phone was almost dead when he picked it up; he'd forgotten to put it on the charger. He tossed it on the Qi charger for five minutes, then called Sam.

***

A good half hour later, he walked slowly to Ava's apartment. The phone call hadn't taken long, about five minutes; he'd needed some time to come to grips with what it meant.

Steve was back. The sickly, underdeveloped boy that Bucky'd befriended and protected when they were kids. Up until he'd shipped out for the European theater of operations in WWII, actually, had joined his band of commandos in order to watch his back, because Steve really never had a decent sense of self-preservation. The friend who had saved him from torture and experimentation but hadn't been able to keep him from falling from the train. Who'd broken through his Hydra conditioning, basically flipped off the world with both fingers to get him help. And who'd decided that the past, with all its inequities and problems, was preferable to the family he'd found since he had been defrosted, to his best friend. Bucky had taken that personally. He'd shown up once, for a couple minutes, after he'd gone back, just long enough to hand Sam the shield, anoint his successor. And then... there was just a great big Steve-sized void in his life.

He knocked; Ava opened the door immediately and drew him in. "You've had an awful shock," she said worriedly. "Come sit down." She fussed over him, tucking him into the corner of the sofa with pillows and an afghan after taking off his shoes, and went to boil some water. She made him strong black tea, making it sweet and adding milk. Some spices. He liked it a lot, and he wasn't a tea drinker. "You don't have to go into specifics if you don't want to, but I'm ready to listen. If you do." He sipped the tea silently until it was gone.

"I was going to tell you most of it anyway, before things went too much farther between us. I have to be honest with you, explain what happened to me. What I'm going to say sounds incredible, like some bad, unbelievable story, but I promise you it's true. Actually, wait here a second." He fought his way out of his comfortable nest and padded back to his place, retrieved a few old fashioned paper files, then returned. She gently but firmly tucked him back in. It was really nice to be fussed over, he found. "I can back up everything I tell you."

"Ok," she said cautiously.

"Let me tell you my way, then you can ask questions," he requested, and she nodded. He drew a deep breath.

"My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Both my parents liked James, and Buchanan was my mom's maiden name. Dad thought it was funny that it was coincidentally the name of one of the worst US presidents, said that it proved that anybody could succeed. I prefer to go by the nickname Bucky. I was born in Brooklyn, March tenth. 1917." He watched her eyes go big as she sucked in air, but she didn't say anything. "My parents were George and Winifred Barnes. I had a sister, Rebecca. Both of my parents died pretty young, so I joined the police right out of high school. I was a good boxer, a three time champion. A good shot. I had a lot of friends growing up, got good grades. In primary school, I met Steve on the playground; he was being extorted for his lunch money. Neither of our families were well off, so this was a significant problem. I sort of put him under my wing, and it wasn't long before we were like brothers." He choked out a laugh. "He had a chip on his shoulder that was bigger than he was. He was thin, undersized, had asthma, heart palpitations and other heart trouble, astigmatism, scoliosis, high blood pressure, angina, pernicious anemia, was partially deaf, stomach ulcers, flat feet, recurring colds and sinus problems, had scarlet fever and rheumatic fever. I was always surprised that he didn't get polio somehow. His mom had diabetes and died from TB, which was something else I was surprised he didn't get. His mom was a nurse, though, a good one, and this is probably what kept him alive, because antibiotics weren't widespread during our childhood. Life was hard for him in other ways; people always think that eugenics is a Nazi thing, but it was really popular in the US in the 20s and 30s before the Nazis embraced it.

"It was a serious issue; the eugenics movement was funded by the likes of the Carnegies and Rockefellers. There was legislation about it, some of which targeted people with illnesses like epilepsy or mental problems--they called them imbeciles or feeble-minded. There were a lot of forced sterilizations, immigration restrictions. It was racist and classist--the white middle and upper classes were assumed to be fit, the lower classes and those of other races unfit. Superior versus inferior breeding. Some eugenics enthusiasts wanted euthanasia, but it wasn't widely supported. Some places did it anyway, giving milk infected with TB to mental patients, or just neglected them medically. This is to help explain why Steve was SO overwhelmingly unpopular. As a white male with no mental defects, he wasn't the focus of eugenics movements in general--those were mainly turned to women--but dames didn't want to date somebody like him, like it would rub off on them, they didn't want to pass those ailments on to their kids. The fellas never saw him as one of them; he was unfit, unacceptable. Nobody gave me a lot of trouble about it, they assumed he was my charity case. But he was bright, funny and charismatic when he let himself be, a talented artist. Loyal and generous. He was held back a lot by his illnesses. And past all that was his heart, which was pure. I know that sounds stupid, but he really never could stand a bully, hated injustice, always did what he felt to be right.

"And so we grew up, Steve went to art school for a year, he did graphic art, commercial stuff afterward, sold newspapers to make ends meet. Then the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. I didn't volunteer; I wasn't in a hurry to die, and I was concerned about what would happen to Steve if I was gone. I was drafted in 1943 into the 107th, Steve's dad's old unit, ironically. Or not ironically, whatever. We did boot camp in Wisconsin in the winter. Toward the end, a couple of our sergeants got busted for getting into trouble on leave, and they promoted a couple of corporals. After we were done with boot, I got promoted to corporal. Then just before we were to ship out, we lost another sergeant, and I was promoted again. I was respected in the unit by both my superior officers and the other men, and I kept the men out of trouble, helped keep the unit functioning smoothly. We were shipping out to England from New York, so on that last night, I hunted up Steve; I'd found a girl for him and we were going to double date. I wanted to go to a science showcase, dancing on my last night in town. But he was obsessed with joining the Army. Not surprisingly, he was 4F, but he kept lying in the recruitment stations, hoping to find some sympathetic doctor. 4F classification was mostly given for muscular and bone problems, hearing or circulatory defects, mental health, hernias, syphilis, so it was no surprise that he had that designation stamped on his folder over and over. But he wasn't alone, something like 30% of men were found physically unfit. But that chip on his shoulder, this burning desire to not be overlooked, dismissed, or a victim of eugenics thinking, his hatred of bullies and desire to do his part kept him going. He ditched the date for yet another try at volunteering, and I shipped out the next day. England, then Italy.

"The Italian campaign lasted from July 1943 to May 1945, it was a series of beach landings in the south and we joined up, worked our way up the boot. We got into a he-- heck of a battle at Azzano, which is northeast of Venice, not far from the Austrian border. We went up against a German battalion--only fifty men made it back to our lines; the rest of our 200 were killed or captured. Including me. We thought we'd be ok, the Germans and Italians had both signed the third Geneva Convention, which set rules for the treatment of POWs, and in general, the Germans did ok. Aside for captured commandos, or people they deemed inferior, including the Slavs." He sighed and there was a few minutes of silence.

"But instead, we were taken to the Austrian Hydra Weapons Facility, up near Kreischberg. It was a labor camp, which was something the POWs weren't supposed to do, but Hydra was ready to come out of the shadows, and it ignored the Geneva Conventions. It was one of the most heavily fortified places in Europe, produced special weapons powered by a novel energy source. It had POWs from all the Allies, I think, at least from the West. I don't remember any Soviets being there, anyway. I'd contracted pneumonia on the battlefield, and there wasn't any medical care. I got weaker, and this scum Colonel Lohmer had me beaten pretty badly when I fell behind on the quota. The lieutenant, man named Kleiber, said I was too sick to work, but the colonel didn't care. We were all locked into these freestanding cages when we weren't working, they hoped that being stuck with men of different nationalities and units would keep us at each other's throats, but that was stupid. We knew who the real enemy was. Dum Dum, Frenchie, and Monty were in my cell, and they devised a plan to get Kleiber off my back, it killed him. Didn't upset me any.

"I was safer until Schmidt, who was the head of Hydra, brought in a man called Arnim Zola to run the place. He ramped up production of the weapons and parts for this big, wild long range bomber called the Valkyrie. Hugely advanced design. One of Zola's priorities was to make a usable supersoldier serum. Because I was in a bad way because of the pneumonia and beatings, I was chosen for experimentation." His face was strained. "I don't remember much about it," he lied, "just that it hurt a whole lot. I'd been given a version of the supersoldier serum and left restrained on the treatment table when it didn't kill or deform me immediately. Zola wanted his dinner." Another silence.

"Somebody came in the room and I recited my name, rank, and serial number like I was supposed to. I thought I was hallucinating, because I saw Steve, who I'd left, safe and sound and with all the righteous fury that his 98 pound body could contain, in New York. He got me off the table, and that's when I knew whatever they'd done to me was working, because I could walk on my own, which I hadn't been able to do on my way into that room. Steve had engineered a jailbreak, and that's when I learned that he'd done his own stint as an experiment, but he'd volunteered. He'd been about five feet four before, then he was 6'2". Weighed 220. We were finding a way out as the facility burned--Steve often overdoes things a bit--and ran into Schmidt and Zola. That's where I learned that not only had Schmidt had also gotten that hell juice but it had turned his skin bright red and gotten rid of his nose, eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair. So that was something new. There was dialog between Steve and Schmidt, and ultimately we got out and walked back to our unit with the rest of the rescued POWs. Thirty miles, by then, they'd advanced after we'd been captured. By then I was in almost perfect physical condition.

"Mentally, not so much," he said softly. "I wanted my life to consist of a good job, good friends, a wife, kids. Happiness. But instead, I was drafted. The Italian campaign was brutal. Although there wasn't the infrastructure on the beaches that Normandy had, there was very stiff resistance inland, enough to make General Clark think about pulling back, but ultimately, we persevered and went up the peninsula. The Gustav Line was utterly brutal. Once we got past that, it still didn't get better. The terrain was awful. There was fighting in the mountains, fighting in positions where you couldn't dig in because it was so rocky, fighting in really extreme cold, and in terrible mud like WWI's trenches. Then the labor camp. I was really down in the dumps. These days, I had a diagnosis of major depression and a prescription. I couldn't tell any of this to Steve; for the first time, probably, he was happy and healthy and really good at what he was doing. Respected. People sought out his ideas and opinions. He had no idea, no basis for understanding what I'd gone through. And back then, nobody wanted to be seen for shellshock, it was a massive taboo. Even if a doctor had been available to treat me. Some docs thought that traumatized soldiers were just trying to get out of the fight, they weren't sympathetic.

"We were in the base bar, where he was floating the idea of the Howling Commandos to me, wanted me to join. I'd been a sharpshooter in the 107th, learned how to shoot when I was a cop in Brooklyn before the war. Of course I said yes, not because I wanted to go get killed on special missions, but Steve didn't know how bad it was out there. He had a grand total of a week of evaluative activities before he was chosen for the procedure, he'd had precisely one very targeted mission, he had no idea what combat was really like. He'd had a choice between being studied in a lab or start promoting bond sales. And don't get me wrong, he knew textsful of strategy and tactics, but his only real-world experience came from that one assault. I joined to have his back, protect him. I kidded him about his uniform," he smiled slightly. "Straight out of a propaganda film, looked like. Found out that before he came over to Europe with the USO, he'd been selling bonds, making movies. There were even comic books about him. Well, the character, rather. Then this woman I'd seen around camp came in, in this fuck me red dress--excuse the language, please--and she eggs him on. I knew immediately that something was up there, because everybody knew Carter was ambitious and looking to use the war to move up afterward. Why did she have that dress in a war zone? Nobody got to have a lot of luggage, we were on the front line. She was on loan from the Brits for intelligence anyway Steve had said that she'd seen his potential for Project Rebirth--code name for the experimental serum--but hadn't looked at him twice before he stepped into the treatment apparatus. But he didn't want to hear it; for the first time a pretty woman preferred him to me, and it would have just sounded like sour grapes anyway. But at that moment, I realized that he didn't really need me anymore. We'd switched positions. I was the damaged one, and he was the sun, ascendant. Finally, other people were noticing his potential for greatness.

"We did some missions, they were all highly successful. Then we got some intelligence that Zola was being moved by train through the Austrian Alps, and we were given that target. We ziplined onto the train, gun fight broke out. Steve went down, and I picked up the shield to save him from the bullets. Then I was blown out of the train. I lost my grip, fell hundreds of feet. Lost my left arm. Soviet patrols found me and turned me over to Hydra. It was a planned ambush, but it wasn't for Steve, as you'd think. It was for me. Zola's treatment enabled me to live. God, I wish it hadn't."


	8. I walk a lonely street

She kept silent as he'd asked, allowing him to deal with those painful memories, getting up to bring a roll of toilet paper and a small trashcan over. She sat, waiting patiently, until his eyes were dry and he was ready to continue.

"If I thought that Zola was bad, what happened after was worse. I was taken to the Hydra installation in Siberia; it was the largest independent Hydra facility in the world, although it worked with the Soviets, agents sleeping in the KGB too. And while Hydra was one organization that crept all over the world, there were branch rivalries; they shared the overarching ideals but not much below that canopy. Everybody wanted power or to drive the power in their part of the world, be the main head of Hydra when they took over the world power structure eventually. The Soviets gave me to Hydra; they gave me a titanium cybernetic arm and extensive brainwashing. More drug therapies. I was told that while this was going on, Steve was crashing around Europe, taking out Hydra facilities with the Howlers. Then he got onto the Valkyrie somehow just before it started its bombing run. The general perception was that the bombs--they were called Parasits-- were atomic bombs, but the Nazis (and Hydra) didn't have the technology. They were made using the this thing called the Tesseract for their power, and given that, I don't think that they would have worked like conventional or even atomic bombs. Steve said that after he was recovered, he found that SHIELD had been researching the weapons, said that opening the Tesseract sort of dissolved Schmidt; it sent him into a different reality, I think, because a gatekeeper on another planet. Or so Barton said. So these bombs were really weird, he didn't know anything about them, other than they were loaded onto small, individual planes that carried a single payload destined for a specific city. Spoke to a high degree of certainty in their power. He fought Schmidt in the cockpit area of the bomber during which the autopilot was damaged, Schmidt died--it was thought--and Steve put the Valkyrie into the ice to avoid the destruction of American cities.

"Meanwhile, I was trained. I learned Russian, German, Romanian, Persian, Arabic, Spanish, and French, Systema and other hand to hand combat systems, knife fighting, additional proficiency with firearms, acrobatics. How to fly virtually any aircraft on the planet. Pursuit tactics and how to handle a variety of vehicles. The drug therapies gave me an eidetic memory, enhanced strength, durability, speed, stamina, reflexes, agility, longevity, and a healing factor. But the serum I was given and the supplemental therapies weren't the same ones that Steve had. He was given the perfected version, no boosters or anything. I learned that the reason they were initially interested in me was because I was Cap's friend; they planned to use me as a propaganda tool--here's this American soldier, but the antithesis of Captain America, he works for us against the US. The public impact would have been considerable, they believed, but Cap disappeared before this plan could be put into action and Hydra publicly went tits up after the war. Then with both of the scientists who came up with successful versions of the serum beyond their grasp, they thriftily decided to use me anonymously and I became an assassin for them, put on the most difficult and highest priority targets. To preserve my longevity and skills, they kept me in cryostasis until they had another use for me. Well, mostly. I was tasked for a time to train the girls in the Black Widow program. I met Natasha Romanov there." He frowned. "We were lovers, until they found out. They put me back in cryo when they did."

"I was hard to control; I kept trying to break out, and initially they came up with a bunch of words in Russian, a specific sequence of ten terms that put me into a receptive state where I would receive orders and carry them off. They were words that they'd found out under torture meant something to me. As long as the conditioning held, I was under their control completely, I couldn't resist or refuse at all. And they never activated me until the plans were in place and ready to be executed so that I couldn't break that conditioning before I did the job. The longer the mission, the more opportunity I had to break the conditioning. I worked on American soil only a few times. One of those was to kill Howard Stark and his wife and procure what was believed to be the first successful version of the supersoldier serum in decades. That wasn't a difficult mission, anyone could have done it, but because Howard and I had met during the war, they specifically wanted it to be me to kill him. A show of their power and reach, for me, for him, for anybody who might find out. And they had me crash their car at a specific point, right by some cameras, so they wanted to send a message, for people to know that it wasn't an accident. I recovered five doses, and they gave the serum to five volunteers. It was, like Steve's version, better than mine. Still incredibly painful, but at least they were willing volunteers. I had to train them; there was an incident at the end where they were out of control, there was some psychosis risk. They were subdued and put on ice until they could be stabilized; they were all better than me, and I was the best assassin in the world at that time. They had additional useful skills and knowledge that made them the biggest threat to freedom in the world, and do not believe that I am exaggerating. My time as a useful asset was ending, and they were thinking of getting rid of me, when the new weapons were ready. The Siberia facility was abandoned when the Soviet Union fell. My handler was a man named Karpov; after the fall of the Soviet Union, he escaped to the West somewhere with my trigger words and they had to control me another way. They came up with a machine that wiped my memories. It was... exceptionally painful to endure.

"My last Hydra mission was in the US. Washington. Hydra had agreed to let Alexander Pierce, their top man in SHIELD, use me to kill Nick Fury, who was getting too close to the truth about Project Insight and began to be suspicious of Hydra personnel in SHIELD. I thought I'd managed to complete the assignment, then instead of going back to cryo, I was given new targets--Steve and Natasha Romanov, because they were figuring out the dimensions of Project Insight. It was a system of spy satellites and three helicarriers that were meant to track and eliminate threats to America after the Citauri invasion; Tony Stark worked on it. It was subverted by Hydra to track and eliminate threats to itself, including SHIELD personnel like Steve. The helicarriers were destroyed by Cap. I don't know what happened to the satellites, if they're still in orbit and functional. Steve had recognized me in a fight where he tore off the mask that obscured my identity and I was wiped again. We fought again on the helicarriers. I didn't know him then; I knew that he recognized me and was surprised that I didn't know him, all the memories were gone. But he was familiar. I was beating him to death as the helicarrier we were on was falling--he wouldn't fight back after his mission was accomplished--and he said "Cause I'm with you to the end of the line," which was something we used to say to assure the other that we'd always have each other's back. And it reached something within me although I still didn't know why he mattered. When he fell from the helicarrier, I jumped into the river with him and pulled him out, taking the opportunity to escape.

"I figured out later that Hydra didn't intend for me to survive the mission. They didn't need me anymore; they thought that they could finally control the five remaining supersoldiers, and it didn't matter if I was revealed. It would still serve their purpose if the original propaganda worked--Cap's best friend turned against him and the US. My missions would have been revealed publicly. My memories started to return, a lot of them. I remember what happened after I started getting clear of Hydra's torture and medication, but there are still spotty memories. Funny, I remember every detail of my missions. I remember killing each target, how I did it, who helped me. Not why, I never knew at the time. Sometimes after. They were trying to suppress my memories before Zola, not the memories that could help me in other missions. I lived anonymously for a couple of years, figuring out the modern world, learning how to make my own decisions again, when I was framed for blowing up the UN. Steve saved me there too, took me to Wakanda. The doctors there were able to remove my response to the trigger words, fix most of the brain damage the machine had done. Gave me a new arm. So I'm safe in the fact that I can't be triggered and controlled anymore. But I still have habits, especially when I'm startled, and I worry about unconsciously reverting to my training. I think that I'm ok, but I don't know that I am.

"So that's me," he said wearily. "Take your time. Ask your questions." Ava's mouth was hanging open.

"Why did you need a new Wakandan arm?" Of all the questions he'd anticipated, this one wasn't it.

"There was this guy Zemo, a Sokovian, who'd lost his family when Ultron lifted the city and it fell again. The people on the levitating land had been saved, but not those on the ground below. He had Hydra ties, knew about me and Steve. Most importantly, he knew that I'd killed Howard Stark and his wife, Tony Stark's parents. And he devised a plan to take advantage of the public rift in the Avengers--part signed the Accords, some didn't--and drew us to the abandoned Hydra facility where the other supersoldiers were. I went because I thought he was going to activate them. But it was a ruse for Stark to find out that I'd killed his parents. He figured that this revelation would destroy the Avengers. He was right. Stark came after us in his suit, Steve and I fought him. Stark cut off my arm, incapacitating me. Steve put me above Stark, dropped his shield, and that was that. King T'challa had also followed us, kept Zemo alive so that the record could be put straight, and offered me sanctuary. His sister is quantitatively the most brilliant person on the planet and they have several of the smartest people in the world living there. They fixed my brain, made a new arm out of vibranium for me."

"You said that losing it incapacitated you. Can you feel with it?"

"Not as well as my right arm, but I can feel pressure and pain. It's stronger but less flexible. Losing it again hurt. A lot."

"Can I see it?" Bucky hesitated a moment, then first took off his glove, holding his hand out to her.

"You can touch it if you want." She did, carefully taking it in both of her hands. It was warmish if not body temperature, and he let her gently move his fingers, flex his hand to see how the metal worked. Then he took off his shirt. Her eyes got big as she took in his torso first, then she bit her lip as she saw the metal collar on his shoulder, the scarring massed around it, his sleek dark vibranium arm.

"It looks like the mirror image of your right side," she said. He nodded.

"They didn't need to in order to make a functional arm, but the symmetry was important visually, to let me blend in. And it makes me feel less like a freak. As long as I'm wearing clothes."

"What happens if you stop working out and your right side gets smaller?" There was a small smile on her face momentarily. He returned it.

"I'll have to keep that from happening; it took Shuri a long time to make the left arm."

"It's sculptural," she said. "So if you have enhanced healing, how come you have scars?"

"Because the healing still takes time. It's not instantaneous, like you see in a movie. It's just faster, a matter of days versus weeks or months. It has limitations, it doesn't regrow limbs. And it was juiced up after the arm was finally installed. But the scars were already there. They're ugly, but I deserve it."

"They're not ugly," she said gently. "They're just the physical result of trauma. They're ugly to you because of what you went through. I don't think they're ugly." Bucky looked away, then stretched his neck to the right and rotated the shoulder.

"It's heavy, even if it's lighter than the titanium one," he muttered. "Sometimes it hurts. Shuri and her team reinforced my spine, collar bone, shoulder bone, ribs with vibranium, it helps to support the arm, but it's weightier than muscle and bone."

"If you slept with Natasha Romanov, why are you worried about what you might do to me?"

"She was trained, a superb fighter with outstanding combat skills and threat assessment. You're not. And it's been decades since, a lot of bad years, evil actions. Here." he handed her the files he'd brought back, then put his henley and glove back on as she scanned. It took awhile.

"I didn't watch the news much in college. Never really got back in the habit, it always seems like it's one disaster after another that I can't do anything about. I watched again after the Snap and the Unsnappening, to find out what happened. I'm sorry, I don't remember this court-martial." He shrugged. These were his service files; thick and dense, but well organized and easy to follow.

"Says that they determined that the brainwashing was remarkably successful and completely eradicated by the Wakandan scientists' 'unique and sophisticated methods'," she murmured, reading the formal adjudication on the first page of the first file. "And that the methods for achieving this level of control appear to be lost with the fall of Hydra. That's good news. They accepted that you had no control over your actions and granted you an honorable discharge, clearing you of all charges." He nodded.

"They gave me a bunch of medals, promotion to the highest rank of sergeant available at the end of WWII, full access to veteran's benefits. Some peace of mind, because they also agreed, for public safety reasons, to make the court-martial public, so that anyone can apply to the Army, read the full transcript, see all the exhibits and their official translations. Everybody can see that I'm not a threat anymore. But these days, everybody seems to have other concerns. The Asset is barely remembered. I like it that way." She nodded thoughtfully.

"It's a lot to take in," she said.

"Yeah. Read the files, I'll get them back from you later. Give you some time to think about questions. I'd rather not revisit this too much."

"I understand."

"I'm going to go take a nap," he said, regretfully leaving the warm nest. "Hey, how are the quilts doing as insulation?" She looked surprised.

"About a degree and a half warmer, but that's without winds hitting the building, and I haven't put the plastic film on the windows because it's been pretty nice out. Do you want to take a nap here?"

"Thanks, but--"

"I get it," she said, and walked him down to his apartment. She patted his shoulder, the left one, lightly. "I wondered what the deal was, you used the arm and hand like your right when we went apple picking."

"You're observant," he said, then touched her cheek and went inside. He could hear her walking away, back to her apartment.

***

Two days later, his anxiety had increased. He wanted her to take her time, but not too much. What if she read more and thought he was a monster? He was--he had been, he corrected himself. To ease his symptoms, he took an Atarax, got an emergency appointment with his therapist, had an intensive workout, and gave himself a task. By Tuesday, his initial shock and anxiety had worn down, and he called Sam again.

"Why's he back? Is he just visiting?"

"Says he's back for good. I don't understand how that could happen and me still have the shield because he gave it to me as an old man and he looks just a little older than when he left. Bruce doesn't really know either, but now that the shield is in the past, it's fixed in this timeline? Have I mentioned how much I hate time travel?" Bucky grunted.

"All right. Can you do lunch Saturday?" It was agreed that Sam would bring Steve to a late lunch.

That night, he leaped up at the tapping on his door, opening it to see Ava. She handed him the files and smiled. He nearly melted with relief. "Can I come in?" she asked, and he scuttled to the side to facilitate her entry.

He dropped the files as her arms went around him and she pressed herself against him. His arms moved around her, and they stood like that for a moment, her head just nestling under his chin. Warm.

"I'm sorry I didn't come over here earlier, but Monday, I got a call for an interview. The application was old, I'd given up hearing from them," she said, her voice slightly muffled by his sweater.

"I told you to take your time. Congratulations--is it for a good job?" he asked, feeling more secure now. She wouldn't be hugging him like this if she was afraid of him or repelled.

"My salary would go up by about 50%, which would put me in a better tax bracket," she said. "And the benefits are much better. Much better medical, they have dental and vision, plus supplemental and life insurance. A retirement plan, not very generous, but it's there. I had to jump on it, update my knowledge of the company. I had the interview today at lunch. But I was thinking about those files, too."

"How'd the interview go?"

"It's so hard to tell. I thought it went well, but I'll just have to wait now." She kept her arms around him but eased back a bit to look at him. "And how are you? This is still a big thing to deal with." He nodded.

"I'm going to lunch Saturday with Sam and Steve. Talk about it."

"I'm glad you waited on this. Let yourself get through that first smack of emotion." He nodded.

"So you probably have questions."

"I do."

"So have a seat. Ask, and if I can, I'll answer." She sat on the sofa; he perched on it just out of reach of her.

"You don't look comfortable, J--Bucky. Tell you what. Why don't I sit in the corner here, and you stretch out, put your head on my lap? You look kind of done in."

He was wearing socks, so he didn't have to remove his shoes as he brought them up, and gingerly put his head on her thigh. Absently, she put one hand on his shoulder--the metal one--and the other stroked his hair. It felt soothing. Accepting.

"I had an anxiety attack," he muttered. "Of all the stupid things--"

"I imagine that this has brought up a lot of things you'd prefer to forget or leave buried." He nodded. "Ok, I don't actually have any questions about your Army career or your time at Hydra. I feel like the files were overly informative about that." He felt her shudder. Her fingers detoured from his hair to gently stroke his cheek. He watched her sort of upside down, amazed, but still apprehensive; the files had gone into detail about the abuses he'd suffered in the Hydra facility, other things he'd been forced to do. If he bathed in bleach, he still felt he'd never be clean. "What I read would have been disgusting in a movie, for example. Knowing it happened to a real person makes me feel really sick. But people can be depraved fuckers." Bucky twitched. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't like to hear swearing in mixed company," he said uncomfortably, then saw a small smile on her face.

"So that's why you don't swear around me," she said. "I'll try to be good." He returned her smile.

"So... what's next? I don't understand why this Steve left, where he went, why he's back--although maybe you don't know that either--what you plan to do now? How do you feel, not just about Steve, but Sam? And yourself?"

"These are excellent questions," he said, and shivered with reaction. Whenever he got stressed, he got cold. Ava felt the shiver and looked around, gently displacing Bucky to bring over the blanket from his bed. She draped the blanket over him so that he wouldn't feel confined, and he sat up to let her sit down again, snuggling under the blanket. Her fingers sifted through his hair again. "How I feel about Steve... I don't actually know. I spent most of my life up to the time I was drafted enjoying his company, keeping him as safe and healthy as I could. It hurt when his obsession with proving himself meant that he blew off our last night together. It could have been the last time we saw each other. Then he rescued me, so that kind of evened the scales there. You know what was done to me, but you can't know what it was like for me to finally break free, have to adapt to life on my own terms that was so different from what I'd left behind. I was... shattered. It took years to even start putting myself together again. Initially, I slept rough, looting Hydra caches for money when I could, so I'd have something to start with. It's not like I could get a real job." He made a sound that wasn't at all like a laugh. "Then I was framed for the UN bombing, there was a kill order out for me. It was different, because as The Asset, I had anonymity. Nobody knew who I was or where I was, but now my name and past was front page news. So I was still damaged mentally, and now I had these new stresses from trying to evade a manhunt. Steve saved me again, then we went to Siberia to stop what we thought was Zemo activating the other five soldiers, but was a ploy to break up the Avengers. Mission accomplished, and T'Challa, when he found out what was really going on, let me come to Wakanda, got rid of the conditioning and trigger words, live a life of peace. His sister made me an arm, but I didn't need it, I was raising goats and ... quieting the screaming in my head.

"All that ended one day when T'Challa showed up with the arm and the expectation that I'd fight. So I let them put the arm on, I fought, then I turned to dust. I came back, but there was no sign of the battle, no Steve where I last saw him, we got a brief update from somebody calling himself a sorcerer, then he and his buddies opened portals onto yet another battlefield and we charged into another fight. This one we won, objectively. In the following few days, I barely saw Steve. It turned out that he was going to return the Infinity stones to the times when they'd gotten them, and he told me that he wasn't coming back. He was going to stay in a past that he never knew with Peggy, a woman who was a pretty face over a whole lot of ambition and cunning, rather than staying with the people who knew and loved him. So I feel like he tossed me aside again. It's not even that I was destabilized, needed the help and support of my best friend, my brother, just that our history, our brotherhood meant nothing." He drew a shaky breath. "He disappointed me, which is something I never felt for him before. He's never been close to perfect, who is? He's always been stubborn, devoted to the greater good, what's right, at great cost sometimes. And I realize that the time after the Snap messed him up to, but leaving like that was just... stupid. There wouldn't have been therapy or therapy groups for him to join like there are here. Nobody who would have understood what he went through. The opportunity to lean on people who did understand and be leaned on in turn. To be part of a community, which is something he always wanted." Ava drew the blanket higher, stroked his hair.

"So you know, basically, the facts leading up to the Snap." He sighed. "It's true, as far as it goes. Guy was named Thanos, he thought he could relieve overcrowding and suffering by wiping out half the life in the universe. I know," he said in response to her eyeroll. "Didn't think that through."

"I lost a big chunk of my gut bacteria around that time, or so my doctor said. Was that part of it?"

"Yeah, half of all life. He had these six gemlike things called Infinity stones. We were told that they each had a separate, distinct power. Time, soul, mind, space..." he counted on his fingers. "I always mess up. Power and reality. They're supposed to be so powerful that one person by themself will be destroyed if they hold just one unprotected. But Thanos was exceptionally powerful. He got hold of all six--two here on earth--and put into an armored gauntlet that let him harness their power. He snapped his fingers, and... that was it. The rest of it is what I heard, until the Unsnappening." He exhaled. "We tried so hard to stop it. We had one of those stones in Wakanda, which is where I was staying after getting my head fixed, and that was where he came. Lot of people died in the fighting, then there was the Snap." He shuddered, and she absently drew the blanket higher. "I felt weird, right after the Snap. Then I looked down, my body was turning to ash. And that's the last I knew until the Unsnappening."


	9. My pride is made to say forgive

"There was another funny feeling, and all of a sudden I'm heading back into battle against the same goons we left, just not in Wakanda anymore. This guy, Dr Strange, calls himself the Sorcerer Supreme, gives us a heads up and then does something really weird and opens portals, and that's how we got from Wakanda to the old Avengers facility. And let me tell you, there was some really weird things going on there," Bucky said, reliving the memory. "Outer space people and ships. Then apparently Tony Stark gets a hold of the Infinity stones and snaps his fingers, then the invaders dust. There's a funeral for him--but not for Natasha, she died getting hold of one of those stones, they never even bothered with a headstone somewhere--that we all have to attend, then Steve says he'll return the Infinity stones back to where we got them, or else they'll screw up the timeline, and there are at least two conflicting rationales for how all the time travel works, and none of it really makes good sense, so I'm sorry, I can't explain it. Nobody really can, apparently. And Steve tells me that he's not coming back. That he's tired, he wants to retire in a world that makes sense to him, have a life. And that's what he does. When the time for his return in this time passes, there's consternation, then Steve, who's aged and almost at the end of his life, shows up and gives Sam his shield. It was broken by Thanos in the fight, but this one is whole and perfect. Tells him to be Cap. Won't say what happened." Bucky shook his head. "Then we got on with our lives. I gather information for the Avengers. Sam is Cap, doing a great job. The Avengers aren't much, compared to what they were before the Snap, but they're still out there, doing their best. I finally feel like I have my feet under me again, I'm learning how to live again, then this happens. I have no idea what Younger!Steve is doing here or why." Ava sat and processed this. It took awhile. "As for the rest of it... I'm going to have to talk to Steve. Find out what's going on." He shook his head. "Sam probably already knows; he was a lot closer to Steve than he is to me." He fell silent; what peace he had came from her gently stroking fingers and compassion. "I'm both glad to see him and ready to punch his face in. I want to both welcome him back and turn my back on him like he did on me."

"Well, if you punch his face in, I know where there's a good urgent care for your hand, which will be a mess, it's just a couple streets over," she said pacifically, and Bucky emitted a horrible sound, a choked cross between a chuckle and a snort, and she started to laugh, and he joined in.

"I guess it'll work out or it won't. He was my oldest friend, but balanced against that is the fact that he just up and vanished. And it wasn't always easy or fun to be his friend, back then, he was like a dark raincloud in need of a leash, focused on what other people thought of him, fighting when he didn't need to, feeling undervalued and underappreciated. Which he was, but not by me. I was always hauling him out of scrapes, people asked me why I let him hang around, tried to make me feel stupid for it. But he was my brother." She nodded. "It's hard, though. I understand the allure of the past, but it's not something I'd ever want to go back to. I've changed so much, it would also look like a foreign place. The people I knew then, all gone. The bones of the city are similar, even if the skin isn't the same. It's haunting, sometimes. But there is a lot of good in this time. There's just so much potential sometimes. And prostheses are so good. On the other hand, while the clothing is more comfortable, it used to be so much more stylish. People are less dependent on their tech than they were before the Snap, but you can see that as the supply chain stabilizes, you're going to see tables of people out for a meal staring at their smartphones again rather than talking to each other. And honestly, while it's great that everybody can be who they are, I don't understand the spectrum of sexuality very well, or all the variations. It's disorienting. But although it's still not always safe to be anything but straight heterosexual, it's nice that people can find accepting communities. It's just a lot to take in. Civil rights and women's rights have come a long way. And there's actually good mental health care." Ava snorted.

"There are still a lot of people, mostly people who are religious and conservative, who believe that women need to be in the home, having babies. They think that I'm not a real woman because I'm not married and fulfilling my biological purpose, which is to be subservient to my uterus and my husband. In high school, a teacher told my sister that it was ok if she didn't understand the math, once she got married, her husband would take care of all that. It's so stupid, it was pre-calculus, not addition, subtraction, division, multiplication, fractions. And if she did get married, the man might be terrible with math too, it's not a sex-linked characteristic. It's so frustrating. Just today some rando on the street told me to smile, it would make me pretty. Like I cared. I was trying to get back to work on time, thinking about a project we're working on. Men still feel entitled to women's bodies and their labor, physical and emotional. Rapists still get light sentences because judges worry about what a jail sentence will do to their future. They never ask what it's done to the rapist's victim. Like it's all about the rapist, not getting justice for the person who was actually wronged."

"It has gotten better," Bucky offered, and she nodded.

"But there's still so far to go. And I'm impatient with waiting for true equality."

"Men probably worry that if women get more power, they'll be treated like they treat women," he ventured.

"Not gonna lie, it's not an unappealing prospect," she admitted. "I'd love for those men to have to work a full-time job where they don't make as much money as a woman, then go home and take care of the house and the kids while the women get to put up their feet, be bombarded with media messages that you have to look flawless, have token men in roles that focus on the exciting lives and adventures of women, have to do full frontal for their roles so that the female gaze is satisfied and the women get to keep their clothes on. Let women run the country and make the laws and procedures." Bucky's flesh hand came up to cover the hand that was on his metal shoulder.

"Do you want a family, children?"

"I don't know. I used to, but I don't know any more whether it's because I really wanted them for myself or because it's expected. But I'm still reeling from things since the Snap. I went from the child of a comfortable middle-class family, in college, looking forward to a bright future, to parentless and homeless in less than two years. The bank foreclosed on my parent's house. NYU closed their dorms because people were squatting in them, they were getting unsafe and they worried about liability. Then a bunch of us tried to get an apartment together, but occupancy limits were strictly enforced--banks and landlords wanted money because half the people who could pay were gone and they had a massive number of assets that they couldn't sell--and we were evicted. I lived by the river for several months until I risked moving into that storage unit, which is when I got the idea of picking up furniture in abandoned houses, because I was miserable sleeping on the concrete pad. No temperature control, running water, sanitation. It was scary by the river, but there was a camp that was all women, and that did provide some protection. If I'd been caught living in the storage unit, they'd have kicked me and all the stuff out. My sister went to her dream job, I didn't resent her for it. People come and go. Security seems like it can be taken away in an instant. I thought about flying down to North Carolina for my graduation ceremony in December, but I can't get the thought of my former boyfriend tumbling through the sky. Can't do it. And who's to say that these Infinity things can't be reassembled to make another Snap?"

"It's as safe as they could make it," Bucky said gently, reaching up to cup her cheek. "Nothing's guaranteed, but unless someone knew exactly where each one is at a particular time, there's no retrieving them all again. And time travel is dependent on something called Pym particles, the knowledge of how to make them is with one man who's not sure he wants to make any more of them, or the use of the Time stone, which is under guard of the sorcerers. But I understand. It's really hard to take stability for granted anymore." His hand left her cheek. "I expected that I would settle down when I found the right woman, have a couple of kids. Come home from work to hear about everybody's day, have social activities with my wife, holidays with my sister and her family, an average life." He sighed. "My sister's gone, she never married. I never saw her again after I shipped out. I don't know what I could do for a job, or who would even hire me. I can't imagine being able to persuade a woman to marry me, after all I've done. I'm stained from all those assassinations, everything I did, that happened to me. Let alone agree to have sex with me."

"Well, we've talked about having sex, I'm looking forward to it," she remarked, and he started. "But I think we might need to allow a period of adjustment to new knowledge and people before we go to bed together. It's a shame, because I want to know what you feel like inside me." His eyes popped open and his dick jumped at her words. Then subsided.

"One thing I haven't told you yet is that the antidepressants I'm on have affected my sex drive," he said quietly. "I can't always get it up."

"Penis in vagina sex is only one act," she said after a moment of consideration. "There's a lot of other ways we can have fun." He lay there, feeling grateful, relieved that he'd come clean and she wasn't rejecting him, and wonder that she was so confident, so willing to help him explore without making him feel like even less of a man than he viewed himself. "I'm kind of thinking..." she said slowly. "I'm thinking that even though both of us are damaged in different ways, it doesn't mean that we can never be happy again. That things won't make sense again. That we won't feel dislocated forever. That we can't make our way forward from where we are now. We don't have to stay broken forever. We can put ourselves together, find a new normal. I need to figure out how to trust again. You need to forgive yourself." Their eyes locked and they spent a few moments rolling this around in their minds. 

"Slog through the bad to get to the good again," he said, and she nodded. He sat up, bringing his feet down, then putting his good arm around her and bringing her in, swinging her legs over his lap to cuddle into each other. They stayed like that, just breathing together, for a long time.

***

"Steve called and asked if I'd meet him for a talk." Bucky told her a couple of days later. "I'm going. I want to know what happened to my oldest friend and if he's still in there, somewhere. But I wanted to ask if you'd go with me. You wouldn't have to sit at the table with him, Sam said you weren't really taken with him, we agreed to meet at a busy restaurant. Just knowing that you were there, ready to help, would be a huge relief."

"Like a support animal?" she asked, amused, and his lips quirked up.

"Kinda," he agreed amiably. "It's on Saturday, at one, so the restaurant will be busy but not hectic."

"I'll bring a book."

"I'll buy your lunch," he said, then shook his head as she tried to argue. "Nope, non-negotiable. You do me this favor, you should actually get more than a diner lunch."

"Well, afterward we could always come back here and make out for awhile," she said, and they grinned at each other. So it was set.

Saturday, they walked to the garage. To Ava's surprise, the Harley was gone. "I gave it back," Bucky muttered. "He only gave it to me in the first place because he wasn't going to need it anymore." And Steve had been a little irritated, Bucky thought, that this was pretty much all that was left. But he'd run away, said it was for good, what did he expect? Bucky had also kept Steve's bank accounts untouched, promptly signed those over too. In the parking space formerly occupied by the black Harley-Davidson was a willow green and cream Indian Chief Vintage. It was retro and low to the ground, and looked like a lot more fun. The seats and saddle bags were a brown that almost matched the highlights in Bucky's hair.

"I like it," Ava said, touching the handlebars. "The color is... friendly. Warm, like you." Bucky snorted; she was probably the only person in the universe who would call him warm and mean it. But he was pleased that she liked it. "And the rear seat is a little lower. I really like that."

"I thought you might, doll," he murmured, and gave her a helmet from the lockers, getting on his new bike and holding his hand out for her stability as she got on behind him. They drove to the diner in silence; they could have walked, but it was still nice out and he wanted to ride his new purchase, share it with her before the weather got nasty. Luck was with them and there was a parking spot right in front of the diner. Bucky looked around and saw Sam and Steve sitting together, and walked with Ava to a booth nearby but not too close, telling the waitress that he'd be paying the tab. She put a battered paperback called "The Copper Crown" on the table and turned to the menu after kissing him for luck. Pleasantly surprised and frankly complacent, he turned to the table. The tables around this one were empty.

"Sam," he said, nodding at the other man and putting his hand on his shoulder. "Steve." Sam looked between them.

"I think I'll ask your girlfriend if I can sit with her," Sam said.

"Her name's Ava," Bucky said, feeling warm and tingly at the thought of somebody thinking he was good enough to attract a woman like her. The woman in question had been watching and apparently guessed what was going on; Steve and Bucky watched as she smiled at Sam. The problem with the booth is that only one side could observe the other table; she stood to allow Sam to slide in on her side. Bucky almost laughed; if there was trouble, she wanted to be the first one over. She shared her menu as well, and both tables ordered before anything serious was said.

"What did you want to say, Steve?" Bucky asked. He felt weary, and since he and Ava had talked, eager to get past this.

"I told you why I wanted to leave," the blond man said quietly, toying with his coffee cup. Coffee had found its way back onto neighborhood grocery stores within the past few months, but it was still expensive and every drop was a treat. "I wanted to tell you why I came back." Bucky nodded. Steve sighed.

"It was a mistake from the beginning, actually. The SSR got me a fake ID, so that I wouldn't be Steve Rogers. For a month or so, it wasn't too bad. But over time I realized that nobody was going to help me get the Steve who was in the ice there out, or rescue that Bucky. They wanted inside information on history as it unspooled here, but they were more interested in seeing how to use events to the benefit of the SSR--and their agenda was not necessarily the greater good but an increase in their power and reach. I wanted to move on from being a super soldier, but Peggy and Howard and Philips were constantly urging me to just do this one thing. Philips pretty much told me that the price for getting me resettled in that time was my putting on the suit for them. So to speak; they didn't want Captain America, they wanted a new, unknown, and untraceable supersoldier. Who would follow the orders he was given without arguing. The supersoldier that Philips wanted in the first place. The threat was there that they would revoke my identity if I didn't comply. It took a couple of years before I was thoroughly disenchanted. Peggy and I argued a lot, about a lot of different things, including the role of former Nazi and Hydra scientists in the SSR. She insisted that now they knew the threat, they could prevent it, that the scientists they recruited were on board with their goals, but it never seemed like they were working to prevent Hydra. They treated it like a future problem, not like the problem that was taking root even then. Letting Nazi scientists go free so that we could access their sometimes immoral research was not why I tried to enlist at every place I could get to. And I wanted no part of recruiting Zola. But Peggy was ambitious, I knew that always, but what I didn't know was how far she would go to justify the ends she wanted to achieve.

"So there I was, kind of a kept man, or looking at it from another perspective, a lab experiment on a leash. There was no leaving the supersoldier behind me; Philips told me bluntly that the research that had gone into making the serum was too expensive not to use the final product. I didn't get to go back to school or try something new, have a peaceful life like I thought I would. My showing up had also hurt a guy named Sousa, Daniel Sousa. Good man. He was a vet too, recon before he lost his leg. He'd started a relationship with Peggy, but when I showed up she dropped him like a hot potato." Steve frowned, then looked up and forced a smile as the waitress deposited their lunch. They ate a few bites. Bucky enjoyed it much more than Steve seemed to. "And she got a lot of capital out of bringing me into the organization." He dipped a fry into the supplied quantity of ketchup. "We fought a lot, she didn't understand where I was coming from, why I wouldn't buy in. But it was never about geopolitical conflicts for me, it was always about doing the right thing. And I couldn't get her to understand that."

Bucky nodded and ate his chicken sandwich. Steve had always been an idealist, seeing the world in black and white. Peggy liked the grays, working in the shadows. Ambition had looked good on her, but what Steve was talking about went way past ambition. 

"Turned out I didn't feel any more at home back then, either. The post war world was booming, it seemed like there was a place for everybody. Aside from the vets, some of whom were really struggling after what they'd seen and done, but there wasn't any help for them. And me. I wasn't even supposed to be there. And don't ask me why the shield is still here after I already left and I'm not going back. I can't, even if I wanted to; there aren't any more particles, I was careful about that. And I don't understand how I was able to return/will return/whatever if the timeline branched when I went back. I don't understand the time travel thing at all. From what Strange said, it sounded like he'd done time loops when he confronted.... some weird thing in space once, but Banner and Stark insisted it branched..." He sighed and finished his sandwich. "You were right. I'd changed too much to go home and have the normalcy that was my heart's dream back then. And Peggy... One thing that they wanted to know was whether the serum would affect any kids I had. They were nice enough about it, made me give them a sample in a paper cup, but they just weren't sure. Genetic analysis wasn't nearly sophisticated enough, and they didn't have a baseline for comparison before I took the serum. Peg stopped pushing to get married and have kids at that point; they'd have been put under a microscope too, they might have eventually been conscripted if the effects of the serum could be transmitted to children, and no matter how ambitious she was for herself and what I could accomplish for the SSR, she didn't want that for her kids.

"I don't know what will happen to that timeline without me in it, if it collapses like Banner thinks, because he doesn't know everything. I put a letter in her briefcase the morning I left. Told her exactly why I wasn't staying. I'd planned it carefully so that she didn't know I wanted to go back here or had the means to do so, because I don't believe I'd have been permitted to do so. They would have confiscated the technology, and who knows if I'd be allowed to live freely in that world? Somehow I don't think so. But I wasn't going to play kissy-face with the fucking Nazis then, and I let Peg off the hook in this timeline. I never held her to account for running SHIELD the way she did, not rooting out Hydra, promoting the philosophy that the ends justify the means. There were serious problems that she helped to create and foster, and I never talked to her about it; she had Alzheimer's, it's not like she was all there anyway when I caught up with her in the end." He sighed. Bucky looked over to see Ava and Sam chatting, both of them keeping an eye on this table. He smiled slightly at her and got a smile in return.

"I don't care what it looks like anymore," Steve said, then paused to order milkshakes for each of them. Bucky thought that sounded like a really good idea, and had shakes sent over for Ava and Sam too. They were being really good sports. "I'm so tired of trying to be what other people think that I should be. I just want to be me. So I'm not going back to the Avengers. I eventually got back pay when I was thawed out of the wreck of the Valkyrie, I got it in today's dollars." Bucky smiled; he had too. He'd also gotten a particularly high rate of interest as well in compensation for the violations of his civil rights with that incident when he'd been accused of bombing the UN and they'd tried to have him killed; he'd made $78 a month during the war; he'd probably make a little more than $3000 a month today, if he was still a sergeant. He'd made a will listing Natasha as his beneficiary; the probate of her estate had been left until after the Unsnappening and he'd just been given back the money. "I'm seeing a vocational counselor at one of the community colleges, taking tests, doing research. Identifying possible careers, what it will take for me to reenter the job force. What about you, Buck? You going to keep collecting intelligence? If you wanted, I could give you the name of the counselor I'm working with." Bucky spooned some of the shake that was too thick to suck through a straw into his mouth. It was delicious, and he smiled, grateful for the changes in his life that allowed him this simple pleasure. Another time he'd bring Ava back here and they could share one.

"I'm working for awhile, til I figure what to do. I'm going to want to find a regular job, not hazardous. One maybe where I can see myself going home to somebody." His eyes slid to Ava. Steve smiled.

"She's your girl?"

"She's her own woman," Bucky corrected him. "But I think we're building something together." They talked a little about what Bucky understood about her work and circumstances, the threat of rent increases that would price her out of her apartment unless she got a better job. Nothing personal; she should have control over her information.

"She's pretty," Steve said. "And pretty fierce. Protective." He nodded. "I like to see that for you. I just don't want it for myself. I told Stark and Thor once that the guy who wanted the home and family went into the ice and somebody else came out. I just didn't realize then what all that meant. I don't think I wanted to. I wasn't ready, which was why I kept putting off dating after my situation in this time stabilized. It wasn't that shared life experience was so important in the end; I don't have that with Sam, didn't have that with Natasha, but those two were still critical to me. Found family. And you're back, you're free. I had a second chance with my best friend, but I threw it away for something that turned out to be fool's gold. I'm really sorry, Buck. I know I hurt you. I regret it every day."

"That's fair," Bucky said judiciously. Steve smiled at him.

"There's stuff about Peggy, things I don't want to discuss here." Bucky nodded.

"Let's go for a walk. Tell Ava and Sam, he'll walk her home." And this was what happened. Ava tried to tell Sam he didn't need to see her home, it was broad daylight, but he'd been having fun talking with her and she gave in. The two groups parted ways at the door. In the end, Bucky and Steve took their motorcycles and went to Central Park, where they walked until they found some grass that was unoccupied, away from others, and sat down. Bucky lay back; the ground was cold, but the autumn sun was comforting and warm.


	10. Knock me down, it's all in vain, I'll get right back on my feet again

Steve looked up. "Peggy," he said on a sigh. "She was lovely, made sure I knew she was available to me from the start. At first I liked being with her. It was romantic, I brought her flowers, she made dinner. I learned how to dance. I like the romance part, the candles, dinner, flowers, little tokens. My sad attempts at flirting. Ways of building a relationship that was more to me than just friendship. But the sex wasn't what I was expecting. It just wasn't as good--as important-- as I always thought it would be. As bonding. That was another frustration for Peg, that I wasn't into the sex. It didn't take much to pull me out of the moment. We fought about it. She accused me of preferring you, that I wanted to be with you sexually, as a reason for being so insistent that we recover you, but I realized that I didn't want sex with a man either. It was impossible to research then, but I'd remembered that in the last Pride parade I'd attended as an ally, I'd heard something about asexuals on the continuum of sexualities. There wasn't any research that I could access. But the more I thought about it, the more right it felt."

"Huh," Bucky said. He pulled out his smartphone and did a search. Steve waited patiently as Bucky read.

"Ok," Bucky said. His quick mind had made the connections. Steve had always wanted to be normal, to have what other guys had, and he'd apparently never questioned his sexuality. Growing up, they'd never thought that they might be anything but straight. And he'd had no real experience prior to Peggy. A kiss here and there, that was all. Explained a lot.

"Society has always said that being in a heterosexual relationship, having kids, was what everybody should have, that it's the most important thing in life," Steve said quietly. "Alternatives are viewed as wrong, other relationships not as important. A participation trophy for losers who don't achieve the ideal. But me, I experience love. I liked the romance--listening, discovering, being present, making someone happy. Making connections. Having special moments. My relationships with others--like you--are intense and emotional. They're just not sexual. It's taken me a long time to figure that out, to see what exists in me beyond the messages that our culture sends. I feel kind of like a freak again--or maybe still--but at least I know what kind of a freak I am."

"You're not a freak, Steve, you're just you," Bucky said, a trifle wearily. This had been their refrain over almost twenty years. Before the war.

"Well, what I am is apparently a confirmed bachelor. I came back because I know now that this is where my family is, even if it's unconventional, even it it's not what I'm supposed to want. And you're at the heart of it, Buck. You always were."

"So what do you want?" Bucky asked warily.

"I feel like I don't really fit anywhere. A square peg in a series of round holes. But I think it will be easier to find a place to fit in in this time. Make a hole to fit myself in." Bucky couldn't help grinning, it sounded sexual. Steve saw and swatted him. "Find something to do that I like, that I'm good at, where I don't have to run through walls, be shot or stabbed, beat people up or be beaten up. Find friends. Make amends. Have my life the way I want it. I can still make a difference and serve without the shield."

Bucky lay there, letting the sun and his feelings run over him. Not speaking, seeing where he felt he stood first. His therapist was going to be pleased that he didn't just jump right or left. "Well, Stevie, I've got a lot of stuff to work through already. You'll have to take a number. But there's room for you in line." The corners of Steve's mouth quirked up.

"What's my position in line?" he asked. It did sound flirty, but not like a come-on.

"Well, working through my issues from my brainwashing and control is number one," he said quietly. "Getting myself straightened out is number two. Hydra's abuse wasn't just physical, psychological, emotional, it was, uh... sexual as well. I've been working on that really hard, because now there's Ava. She's not stupid or heedless, we're going slow, I'm feeling really safe with her. Then I have to figure out what I want to do if I don't want to be an analyst. I want something normal, that I can leave at the office and go home without. Then there's you." He snorted.

"I'll take what I can get," Steve said. "So. Ava. She looks more like Katharine Hepburn than Ava Gardner." Bucky nodded. His Ava had dark hair, much longer than either of the movie legends'; her gaze was usually direct, but when she flirted with him, it was much more seductive. She had long dark eyelashes and beautiful natural brows that drew your attention to her eyes. Her cheekbones weren't quite as prominent as Hepburn's, however, and her figure rounder and more desirable to him than the screen sirens they'd seen in the 30's and 40's. Same love of independence and attractive personality, assertive, quick-witted. Her smile drew him in.

"She's really smart, too," he allowed himself to brag. "She can fix most of the crappy appliances in The Shithole, she's a civil engineer."

"Wait, The Shithole?"

"It's what Wilson calls my apartment building."

"I didn't think it was THAT bad, what I saw before your girl had me bounced." Steve looked at him sideways. "Sam says that there are some bad people living there." Bucky shrugged.

"Maybe, I certainly am." At Steve's look, he relented. "They help keep things safe, they keep their business out of the building. It's not optimal, but it works." Steve grunted. "Do you want to see for yourself?"

"If you'll get the watchdogs called off," Steve said, and Bucky smiled. Steve got up, gave Bucky a hand up.

They parked in the parking garage and walked to The Shithole, chatting casually, enjoying the late fall afternoon. It was cold at night, and Bucky felt like winter was coming hard and fast. Fortunately, he'd gotten that shrink-wrap plastic product for his windows. If it got bad--and NOAA said that the winter would be colder than usual and with more precipitation--he might ask Ava to help him make frames for fabric to insulate his apartment. When they reached The Shithole, Manny and his right hand man were at the mailboxes. Manny nodded to Bucky.

"This is Steve, a friend of mine." Manny jerked his chin.

"This the guy Ava wants watched?"

"Yeah, he's been gone awhile and she didn't know him." Manny looked at the two other men. He seemed to recognize Steve and was unimpressed.

"All right then, but if we hear anything..."

"Fair enough," Bucky said, and retrieved his mail. The other two men went down the hall to their apartments, and Steve and Bucky went up the stairs.

"I don't see what's so terrible about this place," Steve ventured. "It's not nearly as bad as the slums we grew up in. The ceilings are high, a lot could be done with it. Some bleach for the mildew downstairs." Bucky snorted.

"Stevie, it's going to take more than a few sprays of Clorox to get rid of all the mildew," he said mildly. "The electrical needs to be, I dunno, quadrupled, probably. We can't have anything that draws more current than a toaster oven. The heating is crap, but I'm used to the cold. There's virtually no insulation. The one good thing is the hot water heaters." They got to the third floor.

"See, this could be nice. A coat of paint on the walls and ceiling, refinish the floors, put down a runner. Get some lightbulbs for the fixtures." About half of them were burned out. He was going to say more, but Sam popped out of Ava's apartment and swore when he saw them.

"What's wrong?" Bucky snapped.

"I didn't know that she didn't know about Stark's condition for helping you guys retrieve the Infinity stones. Finding out that there didn't have to be a gap and all that hardship was a stress trigger--" Sam said as Bucky charged by him. His heart constricted as he saw Ava sitting up very straight, head tipped back and looking at the ceiling, the panic under the rhythm she was imposing on her breathing, tears running over her temples. He knew an asthma attack when he saw one.

Bucky perched on the sofa next to her. "You're doing so well," he cooed to her. He had what seemed like half his lifetime of dealing with Steve's asthma attacks. "You know just what to do." He took her hands, which she squeezed. "Do you have an inhaler?" She shook her head and he wanted to curse. He spoke gently to her, helping her keep calm. Asthma attacks had always freaked Steve out, no matter how often they happened. Him too. It was scary not to be able to breathe right.

After a couple of minutes, her breath hitched, then became less strained. She freed a hand and rubbed her face, wiping off her tears. Her posture relaxed slightly. "No, I haven't had an attack since the Snap. Medicines ran out fast, my condition isn't serious. I'm not a high priority."

"Wanda's bringing one over from the infirmary," Sam said, agitated. He showed them a packet. "This was the second attack. She was going to burn one of these." Steve took the packet; they were stramonium cigarettes.

"When we had the money, I did too," he said. Sam looked shocked. "It's an old and fairly cheap treatment for asthma; it didn't cure it, but it did make breathing easier. I'm just surprised anybody remembers it."

"What is it?" Sam asked; glancing over, he saw that Bucky had his arm around Ava and she leaned on him. She looked wiped out. "How can you smoke something if you can barely breathe? Doesn't the smoke irritate your lungs?"

"It's datura, it grows all over the world. It helps relax the smooth muscles of the airway. You have to be careful with it, but it's effective. But if an emergency inhaler's on the way, she should use that, it's better." Sam muttered something like 'damned straight,' but Steve wasn't listening. He walked over to the couch and crouched down in front of Ava.

"You're in the best hands; Sam was pararescue in the military, and Buck kept me breathing for twenty years." She just looked at him, and Bucky looked cross at him. "So I guess Sam told you what Tony demanded as payment for his help figuring out the time travel thing."

"That you didn't Snap back to the moment of the original one," she said as hostilely as she could, still breathing carefully, and visibly tamping down her temper. Steve nodded, and Bucky looked shocked.

"He'd had a daughter in those years in between. I agreed to it, but I never intended to honor that agreement." Her eyebrows arched, but Bucky wasn't actually surprised. The Steve he knew wouldn't recognize a promise made under duress in his pursuit of the greater good. "Can I explain? There's a lot of relevant history." Steve asked. She jerked a nod.

"Tony was always difficult. He thought he was the smartest man in the room at any given time--and to be fair, he usually had the highest IQ-- and this and his money and influence were practically permission slips for bad behavior. But Fury put together the Avengers, and I had to work with him. It deteriorated over time; Fury lost his job when we dumped the SHIELD secrets on the internet. Tony did stupid things when there was nobody who could exert control, either ignored the consequences to other people or refused to admit his mistakes. He was terrible about considering the consequences of his actions. The Sokovia Accords are on him because he heard about an American kid who was killed there when we were fighting Ultron, which was an overresponse to the Chitauri invasion. He didn't care about the Sokovians, anybody else around that area when the city went down, but one mother who chewed him out personally, put the blame where it belonged stung him and added to his neuroses. He knew that the UN was working on the Accords, somehow it was done in secrecy, and he didn't tell us, so we were all blindsided. They would have wiped out our civil liberties, which is why I never signed. They described us as weapons rather than human beings with extra abilities. But Tony and his friend Rhodes wouldn't have been affected, there was an exemption for prostheses. He literally couldn't see why we didn't want to sign, it was literally beyond his comprehension. And he wasn't completely wrong, the Avengers just can't go galavanting around on their own, but the Accords weren't the right approach. Wanda would have been under UN control, I would have, anybody like us, and from signing the Accords and revealing private identities, it wouldn't have been many steps to internment. The purpose of the Accords wasn't accountability, it was control. A lot of countries didn't want the Avengers in their borders, even if we were pursuing the bad guys, because some of them are state actors or the countries have something to hide. Which a lot of them seem to. The Security Council would have prohibited us acting except in the world's worst situations, which would allow individual countries to pursue things like Project Insight unhindered. I can't sign on to something like that. Stark never understood personal accountability or a solid threat assessment. He was unstable, insecure, and bombastic, and never seriously sought help for his problems. Always an easy quip, a clever putdown, because he was afraid of not being what he identified as the best.

"Tony browbeat Bruce into helping him with Ultron--not that he had to beat very hard, Bruce can be quite passive and never stood up to Tony even when he had reservations--and even after Sokovia Tony still thought that an army of robots were the right idea despite all evidence to the contrary. He had worked on Project Insight, which would have had the capacity to eliminate threats to America--without trial, any due process. And it all came to a head over the Accords. He failed to understand the difference between security and control, and surrounding the planet with Ultrons would have not appreciably increased our security but would have made him unstoppably powerful. He wanted to trade freedom for security, which I disagree with, especially since 'security' tends to protect only the privileged few, and he was willing to sacrifice everything to get what he wanted. Including Bucky. You probably know that Bucky was forced to assassinate the Starks." She nodded, turning slightly to check Bucky. She touched his cheek in concern, and he managed a smile for her, catching her hand, kissing her fingers. Steve watched this with pleasure for his friend, aware that he might lose his chance to be her friend too, but he wasn't going to try to put himself in a better light. He needed to set the record straight. Accept his share of the blame.

"So we got into quite a fight--"

"Is this where you lost your arm again?" she asked Bucky, who nodded.

"And I'd had it, I dropped the shield and took Bucky for help. We ended up in Wakanda, I went to rescue my friends who had helped us get out of Germany. They'd put Wanda in a shock collar and straitjacket, drugged her. I knew it would be frustrating for the men to be in this prison, but I was worried about a woman alone and unprotected, unable to defend herself. I don't think anything happened to her before I got there, but I also think that with time something would have. I don't recall seeing a single woman in the prison, and I saw a good chunk of it. She couldn't have fought back. So we all scattered, because the countries who wanted the Accords were all after us. But before I went incognito, I sent Stark a burner phone so he could call me if he needed help. I didn't want to hold a grudge about this because the news about his parents was a shock for him, even if he could have been understanding. He and Buck had things in common--forced body modification, other people wanted to use them for their own purposes. Stark was just lucky enough to get away, had the money and power to do what he wanted afterward. But he never called. I finally got a call when the aliens showed up in the city, but it came from Bruce. Stark's pride was too great to ask for help. I didn't see Stark again until he got back from outer space, they'd pursued Thanos there and lost. We all lost in Wakanda too. Captain Marvel found him floating in space with a companion and brought them back. He said that this all this was my fault. As if splitting our forces--first over the Accords, then during that incursion--and him haring off was my idea. Maybe we could have beat Thanos if everybody'd stayed on the ground. Worked as a team. But he went into space before we even had a chance." He spat the last words, jaw working as he tried to compose himself.

"But it wasn't solely my fault. God, we tried so hard. So many people died in the fight, including Tony's second attempt at a robot with true AI; he had one of the infinity stones embedded in his constructed body, and that was no protection; Thanos took it easily. Tony went off to nurse his grudges, be pouty and wronged and brooding. He had himself a beautiful, isolated lakeside home where he could play the martyr and victim for five years. So when Stark added that condition, I agreed, but I was already planning on ignoring that. I know that he loved his daughter with all he had, but one person isn't worth billions. Trillions. Untold numbers of lives throughout the universe. You can't balance all those lives just for one, no matter how beloved, and I'd have sacrificed my nearest and dearest to make things right if I had to. I was betting Bucky and Sam on it, so I was. I used to believe that you don't trade lives, but this isn't a case of a life for a life, or even one life for a few or many more. The balance of lives was so great that one person shouldn't stand in the way of alleviating so much suffering, regardless of how much it would hurt a few people for that one to be traded. And given that nobody seems to know, what's to prevent Tony's daughter from being born in the new timeline after the Snap, be the same kid? It's an unanswerable question. There seems to be two ways of traveling through time, using the Pym particles, which is how we did it, and the use of the Time stone, which is different. I heard from a source that the Sorcerer Supreme kept looping time in order to defeat another alien with bad intentions, sort of ground him down with tenacity, but apparently the particles create branched time. In theory, anyway.

"Thor was of the same mind as me. We would have talked to Carol--Captain Marvel--but she left before we could. It was our plan all along to use the stones and Unsnap to the instant after. Nobody would have been hurt, it would have taken less time than a blink. The six stones had to be put into a special gauntlet in order to use them, and it would kill or maim whoever used it, but we were ready, and we thought that we had the best chance of surviving use of the gauntlet. Me because of the serum, Thor because he's god of thunder and he's used to having that energy flow through him. Even if we died, it would be worth the sacrifice to undo all that suffering. We didn't consider approaching Bruce because he'd have told Stark. And Bruce got the gauntlet, Unsnapped. I'm not sure that Tony trusted anyone else to make the initial attempt. Tried to bring Natasha back but couldn't, because of the way she died, it was in obtaining one of the stones. But we could have still made a correction, but we couldn't get the gauntlet in time, and Stark stole the stones and took care of Thanos and his army." Steve's face was tight with disgust.

"So everybody thinks he died a hero. I wouldn't have gone to the funeral, but Bruce expected us to go. So we did. Haven't seen him since the thing with the shield, don't intend to. But while Stark got his way, I don't think things are going the way he envisioned. Pepper's angry and brittle, she's flung herself into the company, sold the Avengers to the government--and I'm not sure where she felt she had the right to do that, the facility, the tech, even our suits, certainly, but not the actual people--and her daughter is being raised by Happy and a nanny, mostly. And so the cycle of Stark dysfunction is likely to continue." He let out a long breath.

"I know what it was like to live in the Snap," he said to Ava. "I really did my best to get things back to the way they were. I just wasn't good enough. And that's on me. And so I'd had enough, I went back to what I thought was a simpler time, someplace where I thought I could still make a difference. Turned out that I couldn't, so I came back. I'm done with the past, and going back was the wrong decision." There was a knock on the door; Sam opened it and Wanda came in. Her gaze raked the room and she walked to Ava, handing her a rescue inhaler, which Ava promptly shook and used.

"Thanks," she said when she exhaled after holding her breath. "Sam wanted me to go the hospital, but I can't afford it."

"Do you have to work tonight?" Wanda asked. Ava nodded. "You need to take a nap. Whatever happened, it can't be altered now." Ava managed a smile.

"I really appreciate you bringing this over. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," Wanda said. "It came from the Avengers infirmary. I insist," she said, when Ava would have protested. "We should leave, let you get some sleep." Steve stood up.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly, and walked over to Sam. Wanda followed, but Bucky did not.

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked Ava gently. "I don't blame you if you don't."

"I'd like that," she said, and Bucky got up to lock the door after the other three left. Ava dragged herself into the bathroom to change into pajamas, and Bucky turned down her bed, bringing over a chair so he could monitor her. She set her alarm and got into bed, then he tucked her in. She went to sleep almost immediately. He borrowed one of her books and alternated between watching her sleep and reading. Saturday shift was 6 pm to 2am, unfortunately. But at least she had the rescue inhaler; he knew that another attack was more likely now that she'd had one. And at five, he stole down to his apartment, returning with the makings for a good hot dinner, and started prep. She woke up when the alarm went off, and he ducked around the screen to see her looking groggy. He sat on the bed next to her and automatically listened to her breathing.

"How are you feeling?" he asked anxiously. He felt she looked a little peaky and wished she didn't have to work.

"Tired still," she admitted. "My chest hurts." He nodded.

"I'm making dinner, so if you want to get ready, I'll go bring the bike around while you're eating, take you to the bar and back."

"You don't have to," she protested.

"I know, but I want to. You're going to be on your feet all night, you're tired right now. Unless you don't want me to..."

"No, I really appreciate it." She smiled at him, changed clothes and got ready for work, and they sat down to eat. He watched her carefully, but she had a good appetite, and he preened a little to see her savoring every bite of the beef stir fry he'd made. He'd gotten the meat with the specific intent of making her dinner on Sunday; this just sped things up. She took aspirin to help with the pain in her chest and offered homemade toffee for dessert; he thought it was delicious. He wasn't very good making sweets, but he liked them. He made her sit while he cleaned up quickly; there weren't many dishes to wash. One of Manny's crew had watched the bike for him, and he refused a tip. He drove to the bar and let her off. There was a row of bikes a little down the street, and he offered to buy a couple of rounds for the bikers in the bar if they'd let him park his there and watch out like they did for their bikes. He'd seen the group in the bar before and they seemed ok. They agreed, and went inside with him, mostly. He found his usual inconspicuous table in Ava's section, seeing her talking to the other servers at the bar; one of them rubbed her back and they leaned over the bar, looking at something and pointing. Then they scattered, and Ava picked up her tray. She worked her way around to him, taking a moment to smile and touch his shoulder. He told her of the arrangement, and she nodded. The bikers were in another woman's section, so she told the bartender and started a tab for Bucky. By the time she returned with his preferred stout, Bucky had company. Steve had come in, followed by Sam and Wanda. They intended to stay the whole night, in case Ava needed help and to keep Bucky company. He was grateful for their consideration.

"Your usual?" she asked Wanda and Sam with a smile, and they nodded. "What can I get for you, Steve?" Steve smiled at her and ordered a local ale on tap. She brought another basket of peanuts when she returned. Bucky kept an eye on her as she worked; the other servers had each taken a table of hers so she didn't have quite as much to do, but she was slower than usual although still affable to the customers. The bartender gave her an extra break, and Wanda nipped outside to check on her. She reported that Ava was, quote "dead dog tired," but breathing ok, and grateful that there was no smoking in the bar. Wanda had offered another inhaler when her current one ran out, but Ava said that because of the attack, she'd be put on her doctor's list for one now. Bucky had to be content with this, but he itched to make everything better for her. Finally it was closing time, and Ava looked exhausted as she came outside after the bar was shut down. The other servers and the bartender said that they'd do the cleaning. Her arms weren't as firm around Bucky as they usually were, and when he could, he kept a hand on her wrist to make sure she wouldn't fall off. He walked her up to her apartment before nipping out to return the bike to the garage, jogging back. He tapped at her door like he'd told her he would, just to check. Unlike Steve had been, she was strong and otherwise healthy, but she was unaccustomed to an attack after having such a long gap, hearing the truth behind the Unsnappening, and she worked hard. Her pretty face was pale, but she had a smile for him.

"Anything you need, doll?" he asked, and she looked uncomfortable.

"You don't have to if you don't want, but I wondered if you'd stay with me tonight. I don't snore," she added. His expression gentled. 

"Sure thing, doll," he said, and hustled to his apartment to change and get ready for bed. She was waiting for him when he got back, and was clearly on her last legs. He let her get settled in on her preferred side, then curled up around her. The serum made him run a degree warmer than normal, and the night was cold, the apartment chilly. "Is this ok?" he asked.

"Better than ok. Thanks, Bucky," she said, and her hand pressed over his metal one just before she fell asleep.


	11. What's different about her? I don't really know

Bucky woke up once in the night to use the bathroom; Ava was breathing fine, deep in sleep. He curled up behind her protectively and went back to sleep. He woke up again around 10, feeling unusually perky. He was content to lie there with his metal arm around her; it didn't seem like she'd moved at all while she slept. He admired her hair, braided for sleep, and luxuriated in the feeling of her so close to him. So trusting. Maybe the doctors and his therapist were right; he wasn't going to go all Asset on waking up in an unfamiliar situation. Course, he hadn't had a nightmare with her around, either. His sleep had been remarkably untroubled. And for the first time in awhile, he woke up with a stiffie. He eased back a bit; it seemed rude to subject her to a hard on; he was there to help. He decided that he was up now, and carefully and regretfully scooted away, returning to his apartment to pee, brush his teeth--it seemed presumptuous to use her toothbrush even though they'd kissed--and gather some things for breakfast. He slipped back into Ava's place, deposited the breakfast offerings, and since she was still sleeping, slid back under the covers, glad not to have morning after beer breath.

This woke her up a little, and she rolled over, reaching across the mattress for him. She smiled, then opened her eyes. "This is nice," she said groggily. "Good morning."

"Morning, doll," Bucky said, pleased that she didn't seem uncomfortable with his presence in her bed. She cuddled in. He wasn't sure what to do next. "I thought I could make breakfast. I brought some things over." Her eyes popped open.

"Really?" she said brightly, and he smiled. "I'm up, then." Bucky got up, walking around the screen to make pancake batter, and she hustled into the bathroom.

His griddle was hot, the droplets of water skittering around before evaporating, and he plopped some butter on to melt. He ladled batter on for the pancakes, and smiled as arms went around him from the back. He put the ladle back into the batter and turned around, kissing her. Her hair was only partly braided, and he eased his fingers through the silky strands. Her lips parted for him, and their tongues teased each other. Her hand found the hem of his shirt and slipped under, up his back. He was hungry to be touched, to feel her skin on his, and his free hand raised her shirt too, stroking along her ribs, stopping just shy of her breast. She gasped, then broke the kiss long enough to strip off the long sleeved t shirt she wore to bed, then dragged his head back down for another kiss. He thought he was going to combust, between the pleasures of her mouth and her soft skin. His hand cupped her breast, thumb teasing the nipple. He was aware of her hands dipping under the drawstring of his flannel pants, smoothing over the top of his butt, and trailed kisses and nips down her throat. She dropped her head back, and he kissed his way to a breast, teasing with nips and sucks and licks. His morning erection was back with interest.

He turned slightly to use the metal hand to pull the griddle off the heat, pulling the drawstring of her fleece pajama bottoms loose and pushing them slowly over her hips. She followed his lead and broke their kiss again. "Do you want this?" she asked, panting a bit. "Because if you're ready, I'm ready."

"I want you," he said, quite pleased with the desire that he'd managed to provoke in her. She pulled off his shirt, dropping it on the kitchen table, before conducting her own exploration of his body with tongue and lips and hands. He held her loosely, caught up in the moment, until he tensed as she approached his left shoulder. But she covered his ugly scarring with accepting kisses, and kissed down the metal arm to the hand. She turned it and kissed the palm before stepping away, tugging his arm. She tripped a little over her pajamas that had pooled around her ankles, and he stepped out of his prudently. She led him back to bed, pulling back the comforter and blankets, hopping on and turning around. He took a moment to appreciate her curves, looking so... squishable, then kneewalked over to her, easing her down onto her back, kissing and nibbling, sucking and licking his way over her body. Her thighs parted around him and he stroked one as he parted the folds between her legs with his tongue. He flicked rapidly over her clit as his finger slid inside, finding her wet already. She moaned, plunging her fingers into his hair as he pleased her. It didn't take much to make her come, and he did it a second time just because he could before working his way back up, making sure she was satisfied. Her look was languid with her orgasm, but also anticipatory. She rolled him onto his back, disappearing as she opened a box under the chair at the bedside, then came back up and moved to straddle him.

"What do you want, Bucky? Do you still want me? Do you want my mouth on you, or do you want to be inside me?"

"I'm not going to last long," he managed to say. "It's been a long time. I want to be in you." She smiled at him and ripped open a condom packet.

"I just got these last week," she said, giving the head of his cock a quick lick before rolling it over him. He groaned a little, and first arranged him so he was leaning back on the headboard before she raised herself up enough to slide over him. His hands swept up her thighs as she started to move. Knowing that he was going to come faster than he'd originally anticipated, he snuck a finger between them and teased her nerves. She moved faster, looking dazed as she came, then he flipped her onto her back and pumped into her; her ankles crossed behind his back and her hands ran over his back and butt, moaning. Not a dozen strokes later, he came, feeling like a grenade had gone off in his body. He fell onto his metal forearm, trying not to smother her, then reached between them to keep the condom on as he gently slid out and rolled onto his back, breathing like he'd just won a sprint.

"Are you ok, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting up enough to see her. She was sprawled out on the bed, mouth swollen from the kissing, between her legs also red from the fucking. His cock twitched. She looked completely desirable. He winced. She had beard burn around her mouth, over her breasts, down her stomach, and between her legs.

"I feel amazing," she purred. "You make me feel extraordinary. You didn't hurt me at all."

"I should have shaved first," he muttered.

"You're dead sexy with stubble, though," she said, and he grinned. After a bit of rest, she disappeared into the bathroom and he investigated what had happened to their breakfast. He had to toss the first pancakes and make new batter, but they sat down to pancakes, bacon, and fruit. Ava insisted on cleaning up, so he went down to his apartment to shave and make himself as nice as possible for her before returning. She was in the shower; he thought about joining her but they hadn't discussed it and didn't want to frighten her. He straightened the bed instead. She came out in a robe, and they retreated to the bed where he combed her her hair until it was dry. They spent the afternoon exploring each other's bodies and talking, snuggling under the blankets. He insisted on ordering pizza, and after they'd eaten, their touching got more erotic.

"I thought you had some difficulties with erections," she said once, pulling her mouth off him and flirting with her eyes. "Couldn't prove it by me."

"My therapist backed my antidepressant dose down," he remembered. "That might be helping. But I've wanted you for a long time."

"I love being with you," she murmured. "You're amazing." He watched as his cock disappeared into her mouth, one hand on his cock for more stimulation, her other stroking his thighs, his balls, sliding a little ways up his abdomen. It felt glorious.

"Wait," he gritted, and her head raised. "I'm going to come soon."

"Ok," she said. "This is your time." And she increased her suction a little, drawing away slowly until just the head was in her mouth before plunging him deep again, over and over again. His muscles jittered and he came; she had him at the back of her mouth, letting him slide out as he softened. After that, he made a long and leisurely exploration of her pussy, taking her to the edge of orgasm and backing off several times. When she finally came, she shuddered limply for long enough that he started to get worried. And before they had to go to sleep, he slid inside her and they tried a few positions from the book; he was getting quite attached to cowgirl, being able to watch her face and the movement of her gorgeous tits, put his hands wherever he wanted. She said that she didn't have a preference just yet and would require further experimentation to find a winner. He just laughed and played with her so she would come before he did.

It was unfortunate that they had to work the next morning.

Additionally, Bucky, who had not so much as glanced at his phone Sunday or even thought about it, had to deal with it. There was a message from Steve, wanting to hang out, and several from Sam, getting increasingly more concerned. About whether Ava had another asthma attack, whether Bucky was ok, where was Bucky, was Sam going to have to go off on a Bucky hunt, WTF, Barnes, where are you and what are you doing. Call me. Bucky smirked.

"Barnes!" Sam barked, picking up on the first ring. "Is everything ok? Why didn't you call, damn it? I was about ready to round up a bunch of people to find you."

"Everything's fine, Sam," Bucky soothed, amused.

"What were you up to? It's not like you to go dark like that. Or have you learned something nefarious?" Bucky's grin was big and beautiful. Sam actually said 'nefarious.'

"I was getting laid. A lot. Completely forgot about my phone."

"Oh," Sam said after a moment to analyze this development. "Good for you, man. Ava's ok today?"

"Ava seemed very happy and relaxed when she went to work today, no more asthma attacks," Bucky said. Complacently. Sam snorted and the conversation turned to some information he needed. And his week firmed up. In addition to his work, he had an appointment to see a career counselor.

He and Ava spent at least a little time together each day that week; she was disappointed not to get an offer as a result of her interview, but although she was disappointed, she said that she was fine. Their schedules didn't mesh much, even over the weekend. But Ava was on the waiting list officially for a rescue inhaler and other asthma medications, which made him feel better.

Fall turned into winter; he and Ava were seeing each other as much as possible with his crazy schedule. He looked into a few careers that he found interesting, did informational interviews and research, got his old school district to resurrect his high school transcript, and Ava helped him with his application to New York City College of Technology, where he could enroll in an associate degree for Architectural Technology, which would then qualify him for work in the field as he pursued his bachelors in this field. While he waited for the decision on his admission, he finished ironing out his GI educational benefits--he could have afforded school on his own money, but he figured that he should use the benefits since he was qualified for them, he'd certainly earned them--and started to study for writing and math placement tests.

The intimacy between him and Ava was growing; there were some hitches; he found he needed to have sex in positions that were face to face--personal, rather than impersonal positions where he was behind her--as a result of certain experiences he'd had during those tortuous decades as The Asset. The book she'd gotten was a big help in determining what he could do or thought they could try, but anything incorporating bondage or anal stimulation made him go white. She never pushed about the reasons, just made sure that he knew she was open to listening to whatever he had to say, and accepted the limitations without question. He felt guilty that he wasn't more adventurous for her--the old him would have been--but she said firmly that what mattered was that they were together. He did try to push his boundaries whenever the thought didn't make him sick, which sometimes was a pleasant success and sometimes... not. But Ava kept herself attuned to signs of distress, and broke things off before he had to say no. She also did research into the recovery of rape victims, and while hating to admit that experience was part of his past, he did find what she shared with him helpful. And on the other side of the experiences in his past were incidents where his Hydra handlers had made him rape women to see if they could produce a generation of supersoldiers without direct exposure to the serum, so he had to deal with those problems too. His therapy was a life saver.

Bucky felt increasingly better about Steve's return, although there was residual resentment to work through. And Steve still felt guilty about not having insisted at the time that they at least look for Bucky's body after the fall from the train, that his friend had suffered so terribly for so long. So the road back to their long friendship was bumpy with feelings that were both rational and irrational. Overall, however, at least Bucky felt that he was moving forward, out of the quicksand of his past. He continued to explore the world of popular culture that happened in the gap between the war and his escape, and found a considerable although inexplicable attachment to the music of the 1970s and 80s--aside from a lot of the disco--particularly the cocky wink and knowing smirk of the Rolling Stones, but also Paul Simon, Queen, Pat Benetar, Billy Joel, Elton John, Billy Idol, the Beatles, Madonna, Def Leppard, Wham!, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and the Go-Gos. He started buying books published in that gap between the war and now so he could fill in cultural awareness. He traced the development of important technologies and cultural movements and their declines, read history, watched movies and/or read plotlines on IMDB, and in general worked to be able to follow the cultural touchstones in casual conversations. Sometimes he could have contributed information but stayed silent, as with JFK's assassination. He hadn't actually done it, he'd been out of cryo long enough to have a little break in his conditioning and shot Connally instead. Oswald was a patsy, but Hydra had had a backup. It still was a sensitive matter and it was best not to bring it up. He didn't want to remember it anyway. He still had nightmares, but they weren't as frequent although they never decreased in severity. 

Bucky sometimes had the feeling that Ava still didn't entirely approve of Steve, but she said, the only time they discussed it, was that it wasn't her friendship and Bucky needed to do what he wanted there. And frankly, he was just glad that Steve had returned, wiser and more thoughtful. Steve, Sam, Wanda, Bucky, and Ava went to a restaurant for Thanksgiving, and in early December, he passed the math and reading placement tests and was ready to start college in January. He rested on his laurels until Christmas, which Sam had at his place--Ava and Bucky exchanged presents at home, where they spent most of their time in her apartment--but small gifts were exchanged all around before they went out to another restaurant for a very late celebratory lunch. For New Years Eve, he and Ava dressed up and went to a bar, having sparkling wine at midnight, cheering, and kissing. A few days later, he started classes, having gotten credit for the first semester of English composition and taking Intro to Architecture, Architectural Designs I, Modern History for the common core, and College Algebra/Trigonometry. He wanted to start with a lighter load, not sure how the stress of class would be, and although he was easing out of his intelligence gathering role, he was still doing analysis and needed to be able to balance the work with the classes.

At the end of January, Bucky was provisionally ready to think that he could handle his schedule. His therapist cautioned him against pushing too much, but he felt good. It was hard work, and his free time was down to 1%, but Ava was with him every step of the way, encouraging him, proofreading his essays, and helping him with the math. He and Sam called each other, usually when Bucky was on the way to class, or saw each other at meetings. He texted Steve a lot, met for meals when they could fit it in. Steve was attending York College, majoring in psychology, minoring in fine art, with the goal of getting a masters degree in art therapy. He was continuing with his therapy, but pushed it to every other week instead of every week. He was happy, if feeling stretched, and productive. Ava was also interested in architecture due to her work in civil engineering, and it was helpful for them to talk about his reading assignments.

They took a break on the evening of Valentine's day. Bucky had bought some truffles, roses, and wine, and Ava made chicken Alfredo and steamed vegetables for dinner. He taught her how to jitterbug and they danced for awhile, having fun before their clothes came off and they finished the evening in bed.

The rest of the month seemed to slog. The weather was vile--NOAA had been right, it was a cold and wet winter where the only places he felt warm was in bed or the shower. Sometimes he felt in way over his head, but Steve and Ava both said that this was common for college students, especially freshmen. His sleep got more disturbed; at least he was waking up briefly with nightmares more often, but in the morning, he could never remember what they were.

It all came to a head on the very last day of February, which also happened to be Ava's birthday. He took her out to dinner and gave her some rose red leather gloves, lined and insulated for warmth. She loved them, the pop of color against her black winter coat, and he was pleased that she liked her gift. They went back to The Shithole, he studied a bit, and they went to bed.

He saw sickening images in the dark, gasping for breath, flailing his limbs, tangling in the sheets. A memory of casual tortures at the hands of black-clad Hydra sadists, who enjoyed seeing how much pain The Asset could endure. His blood on their hands--"Bucky."

"Bucky," a female voice said. "Wake up, Bucky. It's a bad dream." But terrified, he swept his arm out, hitting someone. There was a thump, and he woke up completely but disoriented. A light flicked on, and he saw Ava on the floor; there was a red mark on her cheek that was going to bruise, he recognized, stricken.

"Bucky, you're safe," she said, trying to reach him, but he pulled away.

"This is what I was worried about," he blurted. "I hurt you."

She said soothingly. "I fell off the bed in surprise. I'm ok, Bucky. It was an accident, it's just a double bed, there wasn't room to--"

"I did," he insisted, pointing at her face. "I did that."

"It was an accident. You were having a nightmare."

"No. It could have been so much worse." He drew away and sat up. "I could have been choking the life out of you. No. I knew I was going to hurt you." She wisely kept her distance.

"Bucky, it's five am," she said quietly. "Can you try to relax, get a little more rest? You've got a lot to do today--"

"I'm not an invalid," he snapped, and she frowned.

"I never said you were."

"I don't need to be coddled like a baby," he said, shoving the mess of bedclothes back and getting out of bed on the other side. "I don't need to be pushed or managed or ignored, and you need to wise up. I'm not the man you think I am. I'm a killer, and you just have no self-preservation skills." He pulled his clothes on as he spoke angrily. He strode over to the door, grabbing his keys as he went, flipped open the lock, and left.

And after that, he left a message on his therapist's voicemail and turned in his resignation to the Avengers later that morning after turning over all the material he had for them. He wouldn't talk to Sam or Steve about it, telling them only that he'd hurt Ava, and took to staying out of The Shithole until late at night. He started going to VA therapy groups around his classes. A week later, he came home at eleven one night to find a bag with the odds and ends he'd left in Ava's apartment on his doorknob. After that, she stopped calling.


	12. Living through each lonely night

Sam dropped by the bar the following week just to check on Ava. He looked carefully, but any bruise she might have gotten had faded; she was wearing a sheer foundation, so it he'd have been able to tell. She did look exhausted, if you looked past her smile, with red-rimmed eyes and bags under them. She also seemed to be trying to use blusher to put some color in her face; it wasn't notably successful. But then this was something you'd have to look for; her smile was beguiling as usual, drawing attention. It wavered quite substantially when she saw him, but she put down the peanuts and a napkin pleasantly.

"Bud light?"

"Sure," he said, and waited until she'd returned with the beverage. "I don't want to harass you while you're working, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I appreciate your consideration," she said, placing the glass on the napkin. "I'll be fine." She shot him a look. "And I got asthma medication from my doctor. I'm set."

He accepted the lack of details; it was her right to decline to provide specifics, and she associated him with Bucky. "I won't keep you. But if you need anything, just want to get coffee or anything and talk, please call." He handed her a business card, then paid for his beer. She made change on the spot, tucking the card into her apron pocket without looking it. Sam placed the odds of her tossing it into recycling without even looking at it at about 70%. Well, he'd done what he could. He drank the beer, which he didn't really want, then left.

He reported this to Wanda, who liked Ava too and was worried about both Ava and Bucky, but when he and Wanda went to the bar the next week, there was a new waitress who didn't know anything beyond that a waitress had quit for a better opportunity.

Spring came, beautiful and green. Bucky was backing off his plans a bit, instead of going to summer school, he was going to do an internship for credit at a development company and bump up his therapy. He and Steve talked about this; Steve was doing classes. Bucky also complained that the rent was going up another $400, residents were leaving in droves, but Bucky was feeling mean about it and signed a lease. Inspired by the money the US had paid Steve for being experimented on with probably illegal protocols--and it was decidedly unethical despite Steve being a volunteer--Bucky was suing the Austrians and the Russians. The Austrians promptly had begun negotiating a settlement with his lawyers, but the Russians were digging their heels in. His human rights lawyer, one of the best on the planet, had cracked her knuckles and was creating havoc.

Then in late June, the property manager told him that the owner's plans to scrape the building and put up luxury apartments was off the table, since had been discovered that it had landmark status, granted decades prior; one owner had applied for the status and it had been finalized during a sale of the property; the current owner didn't know of the status and there was no bronze marker for the designation. Steve dropped by at this time, hoping that Bucky might be home. He frowned as he saw a moving company bringing out a few boxes; their truck had well-protected furniture inside, a wardrobe box, and a few more boxes, and this looked to be the last of the goods; the engine of the truck started up and the door was dropped and secured. Bucky had good things to say about all of the tenants he knew, which by this time was all of the remaining ones.

"That's good," Steve remarked. Bucky eyed his friend.

"What's up?" he asked warily.

"I bought the building," Steve said.

"You bought the building."

"Yeah. Something to anchor me here, provide a home. Make it possible for other people to make their homes too. It has so much potential, Buck." Bucky rubbed the back of his head.

"You realize that the repairs are going to be so extensive and expensive that you'll price everybody out," he said.

"No, I'm not interested in turning a profit. This is about doing what's right, which is to provide low-cost housing for people that isn't in a sick building. The mold and mildew and the roaches are bad for you, but at least there's no asbestos. I'm eating the initial costs, the units will be priced to cover taxes and upkeep going forward, pay for the super, because I don't know how to fix most things. There are some tax loopholes I can exploit to accomplish this. " He looked at his friend carefully. "Will that be weird for you? Will you want to stay?"

"Well, yeah," Bucky said. "I like it here. And Sam wouldn't be thrilled to help me move again." Steve grinned.

"I overlooked it for awhile, Buck, but where you are is my home." Bucky rolled his eyes but smiled back.

"Sap."

The day after the sale, Steve invited a member of the landmark designation committee out to visit. The member had blanched, listened to the history of the designation, and recommended that Steve apply to have it delisted since the event that led to its designation was minor and the building was in such bad condition. He applied, and under new streamlined procedures, the delisting was processed in four months. Meanwhile, he rolled back the newest rent increase, although he didn't take new tenants. He hired a company to restore the exterior and drag the building into the 21st century. He examined the list of his tenants in the records the former owner had provided, and his heart sank to see that Ava had accepted a buyout offer for her lease around the time of his purchase. It might have been her moving out, that day he'd been by. Bucky hadn't known she was moving and was quiet when he found out. But he was pleased that Steve was going to be the new landlord; Steve had plans to grandfather the remaining tenants and make the building clean, safe, up-to-date, mildewless, and pest-free. Some walls would be altered to make a few of the apartments bigger, two and three bedrooms, but most would be retained as studios or one bedrooms. Finishes would be of good quality but not luxurious, in order to keep the apartments affordable. Steve had a construction manager, who also ran interference with the city. Apparently, the prior owner had managed to avoid the mandatory inspections somehow, and they were appalled with the condition of the building. But this also got him tax breaks with the city. His status as the former Captain America also helped out; his project was given unofficial priorities, and he made sure he was on hand with each inspection--and there were a ton of them--to shake hands and pose for selfies. He didn't exploit his status to cut corners, but he didn't mind being put at the head of queues to get work done faster. It was better for his tenants, and it was going to be a long process.

Bucky was doing very well in school, as expected; he'd always been a fine student with an agile and inquisitive mind. He enjoyed his classes and his summer internship; he was doing a lot of errand running, but found ways to turn that to his benefit too, by talking to anyone and everyone he came into contact with, discovering the different jobs available in architecture and the building trades, what training and education was needed, how everybody's jobs related and how things got done in general sorts of order. He felt that he was in the correct niche for himself; he enjoyed the challenges that his mentor was tasked with as a liaison between construction, architecture, and the project manager. There was some office work, as with the management of blueprints. He liked that the job could include so many different pieces, and what those would be would be largely dependent on the firm he joined. He also spent some time with surveyors, so he would understand that dimension of building. Steve was always eager to hear about his studies and they traded stories. He was also busy with classes and keeping tabs on the building. The plaster walls were all being taken down, and the spaces behind fumigated and insulated, the wiring harness and plumbing modernized. There were enough empty apartments that residents could shuffle between them so that their apartments could be worked on. The next phase would be to install double-pane windows, refinish the floors, and put up the walls and paint. Then fixtures and tile would be installed, then the public areas restored. A new front door had been installed already, one where you needed a security number to bypass the lock. And there was an intercom system so that residents could buzz in their guests.

In the fall, acting on the advice of his therapist, Steve joined a support group for survivors of the Hiatus, the time between the Snap and the Unsnappening. He heard about everybody's traumas, from individual shocks like seeing a pet dog dissolve into ash, to the monumental ones that everybody shared, like seeing the airplanes fall from the sky, hearing gunshots as the dust bunnies were shot, mistaken as home intruders. He was recognized, but nobody pressed him for his account of what the Avengers did. A lot of wounds, both for those who had suffered from the shortages and privations caused by the Snap and those who had been dust bunnies for five years to find that everyone who had remained had moved on and had the attendant headaches of proving identity, trying to recover assets, fighting with banks and insurance companies and credit scores, were either not healed or were reopened. Mourning the people who had been killed as a result of the Snap or the deprivations that occurred in the months afterward. Another member of this group was Ava, which was a surprise to each of them. They stayed at a wary distance from each other for almost two months. It also took time for the other survivors to decide to trust Steve. 

Right before Thanksgiving, Eva rushed into the session right before it was due to start, offering cookies. She looked wonderful; cheeks flushed with cold and a new chic hairstyle; a good eight inches had been cut off and her hair swung freely to just below her shoulders. "You look happy," Marty, the counselor in charge of the group, commented.

"I feel good," she said, sitting down after swinging her coat over the back of her chair. "I just got a new job. I start the Monday after the holiday." The group congratulated her. "It's the first time in a long time where I feel like I'm not just putting one foot in front of the other, just getting by. It's not a hope, either. It's a better position than I really thought I could qualify for these days, and I feel like I have future again. Like the light at the end of the tunnel isn't just a big old freight train barreling toward me." This statement produced a more mixed response; while others were glad for her, some were stuck in the state she said she'd left, and one man cried because he still felt hopeless. So it took some of the shiny off her news, and Steve was sorry to see her happiness fade. Marty took charge and addressed the reactions to the good news.

"Hey, congratulations," Steve told her quietly after group, coming over to hold her coat. "That's great news. I'm sorry that not everybody could be happy for you." She shrugged.

"I understand, it's hard to hear somebody happy when you're feeling like your life is in the crapper," she said, also quietly. "But I've had sixteen unsuccessful interviews in a little over six months, so I feel like I deserve the win."

"I agree," he said. "Would you let me take you out to dinner to celebrate?" She hesitated.

"I usually go to this pub after group," she said, hedging. "I usually need a pick-me-up and they have food and entertainment on Tuesday nights."

"Fine with me," he said, and she nodded. "What kind of entertainment?" he asked after they reached the street.

"The first Tuesday every month is country or bluegrass music," she said. "Second Tuesday is Celtic or folk. Third is jazz or blues, and the fourth, and the fifth if there is one in a month is the owner's choice. It's always music that patrons can sing along with. It's fun."

"I didn't know you sang," he said. "My barbershop quartet days are far behind me."

"I have good pitch, but my voice isn't actually very good. It doesn't matter, though, it's all in good fun, and nobody in the crowd sings very loudly. It all blends."

There was a trio at the pub, piano, standup bass, and drums, this being jazz night. Steve was pleased that he knew a lot of the music--they were called old standards now, but he could remember when they were just the newest popular music. The musicians were playing instrumentals when they got there, found a table, and ordered their dinners. The pub, he saw, wasn't anything special to look at, not particularly cozy, but it was large enough to accommodate the crowd and the musicians on a small dais, the beer was good, and so was the shepherds pie he ordered. Ava ordered a chicken salad, and not much was said while they were eating. Steve's attention was drawn to a screen above the combo's heads which flicked on, then "How High the Moon" displayed, followed by lyrics as the music played. Steve vaguely remembered the song from a movie the year before Pearl Harbor, but didn't know it well. They played it up tempo, and Ava sang along in harmony. He sang too, but the melody. He'd lost the hang of harmony. They stayed a few hours, then called it a night.

The winter was light that year, cold, but without much snow. Steve and Ava got into the habit of going to the pub together when they could manage it; he was still working on classes and had apartment things to deal with, so it wasn't every week. And sometimes she had to work late too. But gradually friendship grew between them, and they started to become friends, but Bucky was never a topic of their conversation. She was the first to learn that Congress had subpoenaed him for testimony regarding his role in the Unsnappening. "I'm not looking forward to it," he said grimly. "I know there will be interest in the Pym particles, but Scott said that Hank destroyed all his research regarding them so that this couldn't happen. Hope was furious, but Hank did it anyway. While I was gone, Congress subpoenaed everybody that they could lay hands on; they've just learned that I'm back."

"Who's Hank?" she asked.

"Hank Pym, an inventor, used to work with SHIELD before he got fed up and quit. He worked with Scott to equip him as Ant Man, Hope is Hank's daughter. But Hank died last year, a stroke. That should be the end of Pym particles since Hank was very secretive about them, very controlling. So there's no accessible way I know of to do time travel again. Banner operated the machine, even though Scott's the electrical engineer and actually had the experience in the quantum realm. Professor Hulk was just pleased to have something to contribute that wasn't smashing." Steve shook his head as he remembered. "Seven PhDs, but he couldn't figure out how to make the time travel work."

"Seven PhDs?" Ava asked, puzzled. "In what?"

"Uh, let's see. Radiophysics, biochemistry... nuclear physics for sure, he got that at Cal Tech. I'm not certain about the other ones."

"Nope," she said firmly, and Steve looked at her in surprise. "You only need one PhD, and that's to show you can conduct research. You wouldn't need closely linked PhDs, and the guy would have to be around retirement age if he'd earned them all anyway. No program is going to keep admitting you for PhDs, that's for sure. He's earned one, the rest are probably honorary."

"Huh," Steve said, thinking that over. "It might explain why Stark wasn't hostile to him. Tony always thought he was the smartest guy around, I can't see him being happy around somebody who outclassed him in measurable achievements." He sighed. "I'm not comfortable with Banner any more. He said he reached a compromise that blended him and the Hulk, but what it looks like to me is that he took Hulk's physique and unique color and used his personality. Hulk had a distinct personality, you know. He wasn't as smart as Banner but far from stupid, and he had a definite sense of humor, protective, and Thor said that on Sakaar he wanted to prove that he was... I guess that he could be respected for his skills and abilities. And Bruce pretty much annihilated that, this whole personality. Now he's 'family friendly' and poses for selfies with the children of film directors, does some stupid-looking dance move." He scowled. "And now I have to prepare with a lawyer, take time away from my other things. I understand my responsibilities to the people and the government, but it's going to be a pain. It's going to ... suck, to dredge up all that again, both for me and for everybody else. I'm not proud of how I kind of gave up, Nat was the one who held what was left of the Avengers together, I just ran a therapy group--badly. And this will be a public hearing." He rubbed his forehead.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No, but thanks. I wish there was, but I just have to describe what I did and know of that time. Be accountable for myself. And it's going to be bad for some of us. Clint was never officially held to account for what he did during the Hiatus, his executions without due process. Tony's going to be a bone of contention, and it will probably splash over on his widow and kid. I'll respond truthfully to whatever questions I'm asked--my lawyer has gotten a general outline of the questions I'm likely to be asked, but I don't want to go back into all that, and I don't want to make trouble. It's going to be rough."

"If you think of anything..."

"I'll let you know. It'll be at the end of January. I might not be welcome in the group afterward. I'll have to tell them before I go, they deserve to know."

He invited her to Christmas with Wanda, Sam, Bucky, and himself, but she declined. Her sister was at the end of her contract with Doctors Without Borders and was coming by for the holiday before going on to a new position in Milwaukee.

Group before Christmas was small, with everybody busy preparing for the holiday. Ava shrugged. "I put up some decorations, did my shopping. I finally have an oven, so I can make a normal dinner. So amazing." Steve hadn't actually gotten around to considering appliances for the building, so he asked Bucky when they got together again.

"It would be really nice," Bucky said. "Be nice to be able to make a roast, something that will last for a couple of days. Maybe branch out into lasagna, stuff like that. Maybe learn how to make bread and biscuits. I feel like I'm always cooking because it takes so many calories to keep me going." Steve nodded thoughtfully, deciding to make sure that residents, which would include him when his current lease was up, would have full stoves.

Steve's impending Congressional testimony cast a little pall over the superheroes' Christmas. The three dust bunnies had felt awkward at missing out on all the suffering and were concerned about what it meant for him and the other Avengers who hadn't been dusted. Everybody knew that Steve wouldn't sugarcoat anything. At the same time, Steve was looking forward to getting past the Snap/Hiatus/Unsnappening events and looking forward to happiness rather than duty. Both he and Bucky had done well in their classes, and Bucky was on track to graduate early, after the summer session, with his associate's degree.

January turned cold, ice seemed to be everywhere, which irritated both Steve and Bucky since both had spent more than sufficient time in cold storage. The rift between the two friends was essentially healed; Bucky had mostly needed a sincere apology and acknowledgement of the damage Steve had done, a little time to adjust his thinking, and a reason he could understand for his best friend dropping him like a bomb after the Unsnappening. Steve continued to devote himself to cosseting Bucky, bringing him little treats when he came to look at something in the building or for their study sessions, a painting he created in studio to brighten up his friend's bland apartment. Listening and talking. And there were hugs and the friendly and affectionate touches that both men craved after so much isolation in their lives. Bucky finally started to date a little, aimlessly, his sex drive returning to normal as he tapered off the antidepressants. He never made it past one night stands or a couple of dates, not enough to introduce a woman to his best friend, anyway. And Steve was increasingly nervous about his testimony in Congress. There Bucky encouraged him, keeping him level until it was time to go.

He took the train down to Washington. The trip was uneventful, and he picked up his valise on his way to the Hyatt Regency near Capitol Hill; given the circumstances where he didn't want to be here, he thought he might as well suffer in comfort, at least. They had a fitness center and pool there for him to work out his stress, and amenities like dry cleaning. The next morning, he showered and shaved, peering at himself in the steamy mirror, combing his hair in the style he'd worn it during the war reluctantly. He hadn't liked cutting his hair, shaving off his beard, but impressions were everything, and he didn't want anybody to think that longer hair meant that he could be disregarded. He needed to do it anyway, since he was wearing his uniform he felt like he needed to comply with regulations. There were still morons out there who thought that hair length correlated with a man's character somehow. He donned his uniform, also reluctantly, gave everything a once-over to make sure everything was correct--and it was-- before picking up his overcoat and heading downstairs to meet his lawyer before heading over to the Hill.


	13. Turned away from it all like a blind man. Sat on a fence, but it don't work.

Steve met his lawyer after the day's hearing, accepting his overcoat and keeping a neutral look on his face, ignoring the press of cameras, lights, and reporters shoving recorders into his face. They walked out to the street where they could get cabs; they'd talked over their lunch break and there wasn't much to say now. He was done, thank god, and he never cared if he saw another member of Congress, either house, ever again. His appearance before the Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs had been difficult, as he'd expected, but the snipes at him personally, for reasons other than his actions during the Snap, Hiatus, or Unsnappening had rankled. All that most of the Senators had seemed to care about was getting their time before the cameras, grandstanding, rather than listening to what he had to tell them. He held the door of a cab for his lawyer and stepped back to wait for another one.

"Steve?" A familiar voice hailed him from behind. He turned to see Ava. His eyebrows rose.

"Ava. Didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on it, but I was following the hearing at work. It was getting pretty vicious. Took the afternoon off, thought you might like to see a friendly face." A cab pulled up.

"I would," he said, holding the cab door for her. "Can I take you to dinner?" She accepted, and they asked the cabbie for a recommendation; he took them to Ambar. It was crowded but not packed, and they talked about her trip down--she'd taken the midafternoon train, and she was going back on the late train. They each had salads, and Steve had mushroom flatbread as a starter--Ava tried a couple of bites--and she ordered almond-crusted chicken and he had pork tenderloin with a bacon peanut crust. Once the entrees were ordered and the waiter went away, the conversation turned.

"It was looking pretty brutal," she said. "I ran into Sarah, from group, at lunch. We talked about it, and she gave me the idea to come down for support. There were delays on the line or I'd have been here earlier. I hope you're not just being polite and would tell me if you just want to be alone."

"No, I can't tell you how nice it is to see a friendly face. I didn't actually expect it to be that bad, or I'd have asked Sam or Buck to come with me."

"I can't believe that that one Senator actually asked if the serum made you psycho."

"Like Bucky," he said, scowling at the slight toward his friend. "No, nobody's a psycho."

"I did like how you brought up the deferments he got so he wouldn't be drafted in Vietnam," she said. "And that great Thomas Paine quote about tyranny."

"From The American Crisis," he nodded. "'These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated,'" he recited from memory. "I've always liked that, and I immediately thought about that when I first found out that Bucky was called the Winter Soldier. It fits him to a T, he's no summer soldier." Steve had done his best to make sure the Senators, the press, and the people watching know that he was committed to these principles, the concepts of freedom that are so precious in the formative documents of the United States. But he'd delivered the quotation, straight-faced, when a senator wondered if Captain America was taking his character too seriously. He'd recited it, then added, "But I'm just Captain Rogers now, Senator. Sam is Captain America now, as good and dedicated a man as you'll find anywhere."

After the senators had gotten tired of questioning Steve about potential freakiness induced by the serum treatment, the pounding began about what the Avengers had and had not done at the time of the Snap, during the Hiatus, and the events leading up to the Unsnappening, and then hell had broken loose. He'd answered only what was asked, making the senators specifically state everything they wanted to know, but they had drawn out the information about what he had done, what he considered to be his own failings, why he hadn't helped more during the Hiatus, that Hawkeye had been on a vigilante killing spree across the globe, what happened to Natasha, and Tony Stark's condition for his help. The hearing had blown up, but Steve had kept his cool until one senator muttered that Natasha had gotten what she deserved when she died on Vormir. He apparently still held a grudge that she'd dumped SHIELD's secrets onto the internet.

"She was a hero, selfless," Steve shot back. "She did everything she could to atone for her actions before she joined SHIELD, she was the heart of the team, did most of the emotional heavy lifting to keep us together as long as possible, she sacrificed herself so that everybody else could be brought back, and she kept serving the greater good when most of the rest of us quit. It's a call I doubt you would have made, Senator. You probably would have pushed an aide off the cliffs. If you'd had the guts to go into space in the first place." And that had provoked both outrage and laughter, but Steve never stopped glaring at the senator. The senator blinked first, then flushed angrily.

And there was considerable uproar about the allegations made against Stark. Proof was demanded, but the initial conversation where Tony demanded the five year gap to protect his daughter had been between the two of them, but it was understood by all later, and Bruce had agreed to the condition when he did the Unsnappening. "But it's no secret that you and Stark had your differences," another senator said. "What's to keep you from putting the blame on a dead man?"

"It's true that Stark and I were never going to be friends," he said. "He was self-absorbed, thought that his money, influence, and IQ made him better than anyone else. He had dismissive or objectifying nicknames for everybody. He didn't even bother to learn basics about about his teammates. Didn't even know that Natasha didn't have any blood family left until he asked after we found out she was dead. He didn't have a lot of self-control, no capacity for self-analysis, no interest in others unless it affected him directly, he could be casually cruel, didn't see the bigger picture unless it was rubbed in his face. Didn't agree to help with the time travel until he finally realized that it affected him, that there were other people who he cared about in his limited way who'd been snapped.

"He liked to think of himself as a hero, but he wasn't, much. He liked the glory of being Iron Man, it worked with his pathology, but he was never as good at accepting the consequences of his actions, of looking beyond himself to see how other people had been affected, as he was with the adulation; he wanted to impose measures to ensure safety, but he didn't think it through very well. People would have lost their privacy, been under constant surveillance, losing their freedom in the name of something that can't be guaranteed. He supported the Sokovia Accords because he thought it would keep his hands clean, by being told where to go rather than deciding on our own, not having the capacity to see the impact on individuals other than himself. We heard from the Guardians that a planet that was substantially more advanced than ours, with ships that could create a shield around the planet, was devastated by Thanos in search of one of the Infinity stones, had been successfully attacked in the past by a Kree with a grudge and an overpowered ship. His conduct created villains that he and others have had to face. I had to work with him, I did my best with that, but it's true I didn't like him much, especially at the end. He had fascist tendencies, and I... don't. I don't like bullies, whether they're in the schoolyard, the Army, at work. In the Senate. And the stupid thing is that he didn't have to die. He could have given the stones to me or Thor, who had a better shot at surviving its use, or Captain Marvel, who was on site and actually the best choice; she's stronger than Thor or me or Banner. If he'd thought about anything other than his own glory, he'd still be alive to raise his daughter." And that produced an uproar, the elites defending one of their own. Steve shrugged.

"He thought up Ultron, which was responsible for the disaster at Sokovia. He influenced the writing of the Sokovia Accords so that his suit would be classified as a prosthesis, evading the punch of the Accords himself for the most part, and for the rest, he was violating the Accords practically before the ink was dried on the signatures. He knew he'd never be called to account for it. He called us teammates, but was fine with us having our civil rights taken away. What did he do after Bucky and I got away at Leipzig? Did he stand there watching as the others were chained up and dragged off to a black site? He never told anybody what happened to them, he never showed up to help them. He certainly never told me where they were, he would have just let them rot there. Wanda was drugged, in a shock collar, in a straitjacket on the Raft. He did nothing to help her or any of the others, who were locked up with no access to fresh air, sunlight, exercise. They were essentially in solitary confinement, which is very psychologically damaging. He didn't care that his teammates were being abused, that they were being denied their basic human rights. He showed up only to get information from Sam, and he lied to Sam, who told him that we'd gone to Siberia to prevent the other serum treated soldiers from being activated, by saying he was going as a friend.

"He had a moment there where I begged him to calm down, that Bucky hadn't had any choice in the assassination of the Starks, he was just the tool, and that was later proven in Bucky's court martial, should you bother to check. He could have cooled off then, he paused. But Tony said, "I don't care." And he tried to kill Bucky regardless. I told him that he could call me and I'd come if he needed help, but he never did. Bruce was the one who called me when Thanos's forces invaded the first time. And who knows? If Iron Man and Spiderman and the Sorcerer Supreme had stayed on Earth with the rest of us in Wakanda, maybe we could have won. Maybe that extra strength could have saved us all. But we'll never know, because he chose to go into space, and chose not to return once the Sorcerer Supreme was released. He always made it about himself, he was selfish. Tony retreated to a beautiful cabin on acreage by a lake and didn't come out much after the Snap. He didn't apparently pay attention to the people who died in the immediate aftermath, the people who died later from starvation and exposure and disease and crime, because their insulin and heart medication and blood pressure drugs and chemotherapy drugs and antibiotics ran out. The ones who committed suicide because they believed that there was nothing left for them. He had everything he needed, he had his family intact. And I used to believe that we don't trade lives, but one person versus literally countless lives, on this planet and across the universe? That's a no-brainer. Who knows? It's certainly possible that if we'd managed to roll the Snap back, his daughter still could have been born, been the same person. We'll never know. 

"When he finally rejoined us, he gave me back the shield. Howard had made it out of vibranium, from the only chunk of meteor that the US government had acquired from Kenya. It had been damaged during the fighting surrounding the UN bombing, but it was pristine now, and only vibranium can polish vibranium. Where did he get it? Nobody in Wakanda would have sold him any. Thanos broke it when I was fighting him, and I had it analyzed after the battle. It turned out that it was made from a vibranium alloy. If I'd known that the shield wasn't as strong, I could have taken different precautions. And I don't know what he did with the vibranium, which technically belongs to the US government, not the Starks."

"So how does time travel really work?" one senator had asked, baffled.

"Search me. Nobody seems to really know. It's supposed to be branched time, not looped, but I don't know if that's correct either. For example, I remember the Chitauri invasion the way it happened, and I remember when we returned for the second time. But in the initial invasion, what they're calling the Chitauri invasion prime, I know that I didn't fight with myself, I certainly didn't know about Hydra in our security services at that time, or that Bucky was still alive. But I did know in the second invasion. Is time looping if I can remember both periods of time? How can someone exist in two timelines simultaneously or twice in one? And what about when I returned as an old man to give Sam the shield? I left that reality before I'd aged that much, but Sam still has the shield, and I have a few faint 'memories' from a timeline that now never happened for me. And after the Unsnappening, Clint's wife called him. Her cell phone plan was still active, where it hadn't been, he hadn't been paying the bill for five years. I don't understand how reality can branch like that, where there are two realities where things are just created out of nothing for one of them. What happens when the people who initiated the branch leave? Does the branch automatically collapse? Why would it? By that time, that time would be... populated and active. People think that it would collapse, but nobody knows for sure. Because apparently they exist at the same time in parallel. And I don't understand how people could come back from the Snap, with their memories and bodies perfectly intact. It violates the conservation of matter, at the minimum."

After more follow-up questions, where Steve was unable to explain more about time travels, he was questioned about where he'd gone after the Unsnappening. "I went to return the stones throughout time, when we'd taken them away. And... I just decided to stay in the past."

"Why, Captain Rogers?" a female Senator asked.

"During the Hiatus, I got kind of fixated on the world after the war. It seemed bright with possibility, someplace I understood better than the modern world, seemed more like 'home.'" He snorted. "Tony liked to tell me to get a life, like I should want what he had. The one time I took his advice and it blew up."

"How was that, Captain?"

"I thought that I could make a difference if I went back. Prevent Hydra from getting a foothold in SHIELD, rescue that Bucky so that those assassinations wouldn't have taken place. But it didn't work like that. SHIELD insisted that they had their 'former' Hydra assets under control. They liked the idea of having a supersoldier of their own that they could send out anonymously to service their own agenda. I hadn't figured in the racism and sexism of the time, which was really unpleasant to see and not be able to do anything about. And there was a Steve Rogers there too, in the wreck of the Valkyrie. I felt like I was betraying him by not getting him out of the ice, getting him help too, because with my return, they had no incentive to keep looking for him, to rescue him. I achieved precisely none of the goals I'd set out to accomplish back then. I used to wonder why Hydra never tried to assassinate Peggy, but I realized that they didn't because they didn't need to. She was serving their agenda by providing a place for them to flourish; a replacement might not have, at that critical moment in time. It proved to me that those in power will do anything to keep their power. That the greater good is not their ultimate goal. They think that their visions are the only ones that count, never mind that people might have real and valid reasons for not wanting to live in a surveillance state. That individual freedoms are not less than the overall stated 'security' goal.

"Freedom for security isn't a direct trade. You still never get perfect security, and you've given away your privacy, your freedoms for nothing. In the end, it's all about powerful people protecting what they have at the expense of everyone else." More than one senator scowled at the former Captain America, the Sentinel of Liberty. And he'd taken care to explain that he'd used the last of his supply of Pym particles to return. It was important to him that everybody know that there was no way to reacquire the Infinity stones. He shuddered to think of their power available to an unstable president and deeply divided Congress. Or any elite, really. It was best that they stay beyond man's grasp. Even the Avengers had been corrupted by their power. Steve knew that he had some fairly substantial character flaws, including a hot temper, sometimes unfairly high expectations for himself, and a certain willingness to bend the truth to suit his own agenda, and he knew that he should never be allowed to control any of the stones.

"Well, at least that's over," Steve said to Ava, finishing dinner. "There's going to fallout, sure, but I've done my duty, now I can get on with the rest of my life."

"How's school going, anyway?"

"Good. I really like it." The server came by and it didn't take much urging on Steve's part to get Ava to join him with dessert. He thought she was too thin, but he didn't want to be a dread mansplainer on a topic he had no business discussing. "I, uh, also have a side project."

"Oh?" Her look was brightly inquisitive.

"Uh, yeah." He immediately started questioning why he'd brought this up right now. Things were going well, and maybe it was too soon to try putting her and Bucky back into each other's paths? Damn. Well, he was committed now. "I bought your old apartment building. I'm going to fix it up--actually, work's already started. Pest control first, we were also getting rats along with the cockroaches. I've rolled back the last rent increase. If you wanted to move back, after your current lease is up, you could have your choice of apartments, pretty much. There aren't many tenants left. There will be new windows, insulation sprayed into the walls. Massively upgraded electrical, full stoves as well as a washer/dryer in each unit. Good heat." He smiled at the server who placed their desserts in front of them. "Every unit will be a little different. Salvaging good period details. Upgraded security so that nobody has to rely on gang members or drug dealers to feel safe. The plaster walls will be taken down, replaced with drywall so that tenants can hang artwork, mirrors, things like that securely. A reliable property manager. Good tenants are not always easy to find," he babbled on.

"Well, Steve..." her look was frustrated, but softened rather unwillingly. "My current lease has months left to run. I can't make a decision right now."

"Oh, right. Of course. Take your time. Come by some time, I'll show you the reno in progress." He bit his lip to stop the babble.

"Maybe after group some time." And he was smart enough to accept this and move the conversation in a different direction. Her new job.

"Well, I'm focusing on concrete right now, helping the project manager. That's where the company ultimately wants me, as a project manager." She brightened up again.

"Is that a natural outgrowth of engineering?" he asked. "Do you want to do one or the other?"

"My focus in my masters degree was concrete, looking into changes that are being made to make it stronger, more durable, more environmentally friendly--it takes a huge amount of energy to make, and processing the limestone can produce more than a ton of CO2 for every ton of concrete as it's being made. But my minor in my bachelors degree was in project management. They're both interesting to me, and since I'm not in a position to do research into concretes, ultimately I think project management will offer more challenges."

They chatted about more innocuous things; Steve paid the bill and escorted her to the train station so that she could go home. "I can't thank you enough for coming down. I underestimated how bad it would be, having to dredge all that up again. Face what I did too. A friendly face really helped." She smiled.

"We might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but getting to know you in group, at the pub has changed my mind. I was wrong, the way I acted at first."

"No, I didn't like hearing what you had to say, keeping me off Buck's doorstep, but you were right. I was glad that he had somebody looking out for him. Still, this was above the call of friendship."

"Not really, it was looking like a witch hunt, and it's easy to be an armchair quarterback, like those senators have any right to judge. They're just barely more functional than they were before the Snap. I'm glad that the rest of us know more about what happened. And I'm sure you get tired of hearing it, but I appreciate what you have done for the country, what it cost you. The least I could do is be here to let you vent." She shuddered. "Here. I brought you some reading material as distraction." She handed him a bag that she took out of her tote, rooting around in there. He could see some files stashed as well, her purse, a reusable water bottle, mittens. "I can't imagine our government with the power of the Infinity stones, so I'm glad that Thanos destroyed them in this time and that they're back where nobody can touch them." Steve leaned over to kiss her cheek, earning him an odd look, then she went inside the terminal to board the train. Steve went back to the taxi. He was going to need the hotel to dry clean his uniform; he'd been stress-sweating throughout his testimony.

He strolled into the hotel, feeling a lot calmer and less stressed out, and walked to the elevator. His lawyer popped up from a chair. "Captain Rogers, where have you been?" she asked. "I've left messages on your voicemail. Can you stay an extra day?"

"Why?" he asked, feeling oppressed from the pressure of the hearings bear down on his shoulders again. He was tired of the whole thing, the grandstanding senators, having to explain how they failed, talking about Tony Stark again, things he desperately wanted to stay safely in the past. His lawyer drew him aside.

"My office was contacted by Spiderman this morning. He saw your testimony regarding Tony Stark and he'd like to testify before Congress too, tell what he knows. And some of the senators are very interested in talking to him. I think it would be helpful for him to be seen with you in his corner. If you're willing to be. Did you know he was so young?" Now she was frowning.

"He sounded young, but I'm over a hundred, it's hard to judge sometimes. How young is 'so young'?"

"He was fifteen when you all trashed the Leipzig airport," the lawyer said disapprovingly.

"No, I did not." Shit, he thought. If he'd have known, he wouldn't have dropped the shipping container on him. He could have killed a child. He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I'll be there. I'll do what I can for him."

"Great. We'll meet you there. I'd like you to sit behind him when he testifies, for the optics. Afterward there might be some press."

"Right," he said, and shook her hand before going to the elevator and punching the floor for his room. He'd forgotten about the bag Ava had given him, and looked inside. Huh. Comic books? He hadn't read one since the first Captain America comic in the 40's, and read the cover blurb on the first one: "In an alchemical ritual gone wrong, Edward Elric lost his arm and his leg, and his brother Alphonse became nothing but a soul in a suit of armor. Equipped with mechanical "auto-mail" limbs, Edward becomes a state alchemist, seeking the one thing that can restore his and his brother's bodies...the legendary Philosopher's Stone. Alchemy: the mystical power to alter the natural world, somewhere between magic, art, and science..." Huh. He wandered down the hall, still reading the cover, looking at the art, until he reached his door and pulled out the card key.

He tossed the overcoat and bookbag on the bed, taking off his uniform--his dress uniform from the 40's, Fury had given it to him when he'd been defrosted, specially tailored, and with all his ribbons. Perfect, down to the last stitch. He pulled on a long-sleeved t-shirt, a hoody, and sweats and called down for instructions to get his uniform dry-cleaned, planning on hitting the gym before bed. The light was blinking, indicating a message, which he attended to after being assured that somebody would be right up. He quickly stripped off the insignia and decorations, looking in the pockets, before sliding everything into the bag he found and handing it off and checking that voicemail.

"Steve," Sam's voice said. "Barnes and I are here for moral support. We're in rooms 314 and 315. Call when you get in, since you're not answering your phone." Steve cursed and grabbed his key card, trotting out the door.


	14. Welcome to the jungle. It gets worse here everyday.

He tapped on 315 first, it was the one he came to first, but nobody answered, so he went on to 314. Here the door opened. Sam eyed him carefully, then clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You don't look as bad as I thought." Bucky was waiting, got up and gave him the hug Steve was longing for.

"Where were you, punk?" he asked, humor not quite masking his concern. "The hearing ended just past five. It's been hours."

"Three hours," Sam clarified, folding his arms and looking at him like his mom had when she'd expected an explanation, and Steve controlled his flinch.

"I went out to dinner," he said, then dropped in a chair. "Ava came down to make sure I was ok," he said to Bucky, who rocked back a little.

"Not saying she's not a good woman, but that seems like... a lot," Sam said carefully.

"Well, I haven't mentioned it, but that Snap survivor group I joined?" The other two nodded. "She's a member. Took her a couple of months to warm up to me."

"That old Steve Rogers charm," Bucky muttered, his mouth just quirking up at the corner. Steve flipped him off.

"But after group, we get dinner together and talk. It's nice. She's still a little wary, but I figure in another couple of years I'll have her eating out of my hand," he bragged, which cracked everybody up.

"Lady killer," Sam managed, which set them off again.

"So what happened?" Bucky asked.

"She caught up with me as I left the hearing, wanted to know that I was ok. Said it looked rough on TV." Bucky nodded.

"It's why we're here too." Steve pinked a little with pleasure.

"I took her out to eat, seemed like the least I could do, made sure she got to the train station ok. She gave me a book for distraction. Looks interesting."

"What's it called?" Sam asked.

"Fullmetal Alchemist. It's some kind of comic. The art is wonderful." Sam stared at him.

"How is it that you haven't read any manga? That's right up your alley," he asked. Steve looked a little nettled.

"Oh, I don't know, I was busy saving the Earth--sometimes--from alien invaders, fighting evil assholes like Pierce and Rumlow and murderbots, running around after my best friend. Didn't leave much time for light reading." Bucky made a placating gesture.

"When are you going back?"

"Not tomorrow," he said grumpily. "Spiderman is testifying tomorrow. He saw me on the broadcast, my lawyer said he got in touch with her. I gotta support him. He was only fifteen when Stark dragged him into our business. Maybe he can get the authorities off his back with this testimony."

"That'd be good," Sam said. "We'll help if we can."

"So where'd you go to dinner?"

"Ambar, it's Balkan cuisine, really good."

"We got pizza from a place down the street. It's giving me heartburn," Sam grumbled.

"I don't get heartburn anymore," Bucky said sunnily. "Benefit of the serum." Sam scowled. With the ease of practice, Steve headed off the bickering, and it was decided that the three of them would attend the hearing; Sam and Bucky would sit with whoever the kid brought along for moral support, and would also observe the audience and the activity in the hearing chamber. Steve still wanted a workout, so after a little more unwinding, he gratefully said goodnight and went down to the fitness center. As he'd suspected, he wouldn't have access to enough resistance on the weights, but there was a Stairclimber there, and those things always kicked his ass. 

He was unsurprised when Bucky ghosted in behind him. A snorty chuckle when he saw the level Steve was working at. "Seven?" Buck said incredulously, checking the time as well, just over ten minutes. Steve was slogging along, puffing and sweating. He hated the Stairmaster.

"Shut up," Steve wheezed, and a lifetime of reacting to Steve's wheezes brought Bucky up short. Steve shut off the torture device and toweled off his face. "I'd like to see you do any better." Bucky smirked and hopped on. Level nine, legs working like a machine; Bucky kept his chin up and his thoughts light. He made it to sixteen minutes before shutting it down. He was sweating, but not awash as Steve had been. He smiled angelically at his buddy, who was moving around slowly, stretching. And scowling.

"Elevators, Buck." Bucky rolled his eyes and started to stretch. It hadn't been much of a workout, and after a little rest, they headed for the treadmills. Steve had the advantage there, or Bucky indulged him by letting him get a speed one level faster with one higher setting on the incline. Whatever, his pride was bruised.

"So how's Ava?" Bucky said after several minutes of pounding away.

"Good. She's got a new job, looks happy. She might be thinking about ending her attendance at the group, she seems to be pretty much through her trauma." A few more minutes of silence.

"I really screwed up there," Bucky muttered. Steve nodded. He felt badly for his friend, but it was up to Bucky to fix it. Or not. And that was all they said. Half an hour later, they started their cool-down, then went back to their rooms. They both felt better for the exertion; Steve had a leisurely hot shower, letting the water lull him until he was ready for sleep.

He felt peppy the next day, getting up for an early breakfast, returning to his room just as an employee was returning his uniform. Inside, he examined it critically and plugged in the iron to make creases crisper, to make his tie immaculate. He had some brass polish wipes, and brightened his brass before pinning everything back on. He dressed carefully, then went down to collect Bucky and Sam. Both were sharp in dark suits, and they walked down to the Capitol, Steve buying the Washington Post on the way because he liked a physical newspaper and it would be something to read while waiting for things to get going. And he could do the crossword. The lawyer was waiting for them outside the hearing room, with two young men and an older woman.

"Captain," the lawyer said. "This is Peter Parker." Steve put out his hand.

"Sorry for the shipping container," he said, and Parker managed a smile.

"This was the Steve who gave you the black eye?" the older woman said, outraged.

"I apologize, ma'am," he said quietly. "I never thought that Tony would bring a kid to a fight like that." He waited until the woman's ire subsided and she nodded grudgingly.

"This is my aunt, May Parker," Peter said. "This is my best friend, Ned." His voice was instantly familiar. Steve shook hands.

"Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson," Steve said, and hands were shook all around. "They came down as moral support for me, so we thought they could sit with your support, Peter. Am I still sitting behind him?" he asked the lawyer, who nodded.

"You don't have to, Cap," Peter said.

"I've got your back, unless you'd prefer that I don't. I'm not well-liked in there." Peter smiled a little.

"I appreciate it." And before they could say more, the doors opened and they were allowed in. Sam, Bucky, Ms Parker, and Ned took seats on the aisle near the back, and Steve and the lawyer sat down right behind Peter, who was at the witness table, his name on a sign like a place card. Steve read the paper, passing the comics up to Peter after he read them and starting in on the crossword. The lawyer poked away at her cell phone after running through things with her new client. They didn't have long to wait. The senators came in, the media lit up the room with their hot lights, the aids and hangers-on followed the lawmakers in, and Steve sat up straight, folding the paper and placing in on the ground between chairs. He tried to look friendly and supportive. Peter snuck a look around before he stood to be sworn in. The senators got down to business fairly quickly.

Peter told about the accident that gave him new abilities, why he'd become Spiderman--"I just wanted to help the little guys"--and the lead up to the main event.

"I came home from school one day and found Tony Stark in my apartment, talking to my aunt."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen. And I didn't know what he wanted, until he spoke to me in private in my bedroom. He said he needed my help, that there was going to be a fight because Captain America was making trouble, that the Accords were necessary. That Cap was dangerous, because he believed he was right. He needed to be brought in line before something bad happened. So we went to Germany, and we fought Cap and his side, we got our butts kicked, we lost, I came home. Lied to my aunt about where I'd been."

"Did you get the consent of your aunt? She's your guardian?"

"She is my guardian, and no, Mr Stark said it had to be quick and quiet." He sighed. "He threatened to tell Aunt May that I was Spiderman unless I did it. And I didn't want her to know. Didn't want her to worry."

"When you say you got your butt kicked, what did that entail?"

"Well, we kind of defeated some of the others, but Cap and his friend got away. The others were arrested, I heard that they were going to be taken to some place called the Raft. Then Mr Stark disappeared and I was taken back home by his driver."

"And what happened after that?"

"Well, Mr Stark had made me a really cool new suit, I had to learn how to use it. It had an 'Instant Kill' setting that had to go immediately. That's not what I'm about. And I thought that he'd be my mentor, but he dumped me on his driver, Happy, who kept blowing me off. I tried to report that the shipment of tech from Stark Tower was going to be hijacked, but he didn't listen. Mr Stark just yelled at me from time to time. Then when those aliens showed up for the Infinity stones, I followed Mr Stark into space. We rescued a wizard, we got to another planet and fought Thanos. And lost. Again. And then I felt weird, and I saw myself blowing away to dust. Then I was back. Mr Stark left me the EDITH glasses, what a mess, I almost killed a classmate by mistake, then that whole thing with Quentin Beck, he outed me, and yeah, I have some hard feelings about that, but it all comes down to how Mr Stark stole their inventions without giving them credit, that augmented framing device, can't really blame them for being mad."

"So why are you here, Mr Parker?"

"Because it took me awhile, but I know of two occasions where Mr Stark just took things over, not caring about what it did to anybody else--during the cleanup of New York after the Chitauri invasion, Damage Control took over the contracts, putting a lot of people out of business, one of which was the father of one of my classmates. And stealing the technology made by Quentin and the others. They may have worked for Mr Stark, but he didn't have the right to take their intellectual property and slap his name on it, not even giving them credit. Taking their patents. It took awhile, but I realize that he treated me the same, a tool that he paid attention to as long as he needed me, then ignored. So you might want to rethink this hero thing you've got going for him. He had a lot of gifts, but it was all about him and his ego. And he never tried to come up with non-lethal weapons. I mean, me, I made my webbing, but that's not going to kill anybody. There was even a tracker and a program in my suit to keep me in line, Mr Stark could override my commands at will. I just think that people should know what he did."

"Did you know why Iron Man and Captain America were fighting, what the stakes were?"

"Not at the time."

"So why did you go with him? It couldn't just be the threat of outing you."

"I was flattered," Peter said softly. "Here's Tony Stark, saying he needs my help, admiring my webbing, what I'm doing. He was a hero to me, using science the way he did, the engineering of his suits. And me? I'm nobody."

"You know that the fight was about the Sokovia Accords now, is that correct? And you didn't at the time?"

"Now I know, I read it later, long after the fight. I didn't know that it would apply to me at the time. If I'd known that I was going to lose my secret identity anyway, that I had to register myself... I would have told May myself and not gone."

"Backing up a bit, what's this EDITH technology you were talking about?"

"It's this pair of sunglasses that had the ability to surveil all the cell phones in my vicinity, I could call drone strikes." His lips twisted. "It stands for 'Even Dead, I'm The Hero.' I believed Quentin, that he was a good guy, I gave him the glasses. And he used them to stage a terrorist attack in London. And in the end, I got the blame."

"Where are these sunglasses now?" The senator sounded a little panicked.

"I destroyed them," he said simply. "Anybody who had them could use them. And I don't think anybody is capable of using them responsibly. I wasn't even trying, and I almost killed my classmates. So I told the drones to destroy themselves, and I destroyed the glasses." And there was an uproar about that, because such a weapon made some of the senators salivate. Peter refused to second-guess his decision.

And there were more questions. Peter was wilting, and during a brief moment where the senators were conferring, Steve leaned forward and put his hand on Peter's shoulder, asking if he was ok. He looked around, looking tired but grateful. The lawyer leaned forward then and they conferred quietly. More question about Parker and Stark's interactions, the events in Europe.

"I see that you've got Captain Rogers behind you," one senator said jadedly. "Is he telling you what to say, push his anti-Tony Stark agenda?"

"No. I only met Cap briefly at the airport fight. I had my new suit on, mask included. He didn't know anything about me. I just saw him again this morning. He said he'd have my back if I wanted him to. I appreciate the moral support." And then he was invited to make a closing statement.

"I didn't know what was happening when Mr Stark showed up in my apartment, charming my aunt. I didn't know that he was going to lie to me, manipulate me, treat me like just another weapon in his arsenal. That's not me. I wanted to protect the little guy, not turn against people who also just want to do the right thing. I finally got to read the Accords and realized that he set me up. Under the Accords, I was going to go to prison for just trying to make my corner of New York safer, be tracked and watched for the rest of my existence. I'm not a weapon, I never wanted to be a hero, the spiderbite was an accident. But when I had the ability to make a difference, I felt that I had to. But Mr Stark could take off his suit and walk away. Come back, do his thing, walk away, leaving everybody else holding the bag. I cried when I realized that. How intent he was in getting everybody else rounded up to push his idea of security, but him and his friends wouldn't have been affected, because his suits were just prostheses, his and Colonel Rhodes. Not innate abilities. Like mine. And the Accords were going to allow a man who was being set up to be killed, no trial, no real evidence. So I thought that it was important that people know about him. He was dangerous, didn't have much in the way of emotional intelligence or good judgment. He insisted on things being his way, and that wasn't always the best way."

And that, basically, was that. It hadn't lasted nearly as long as Steve's testimony, partly because the senators were aware of the optics of beating up (verbally) a wide-eyed, sorrowing minor.

On the way out, Steve escorted the lawyer and Peter. They stood a little to the side as the press cornered the lawyer. "The Sokovia Accords are at the root of the problem. The Accords were signed by 177 countries--including the United States--to have an appointed, un-elected panel at the United Nations approve what missions the Avengers, who are mostly US citizens or legal residents, could go on. Superheroes who didn't sign could be imprisoned on the Raft, with no trial or hearing, complete violations of their civil rights. Congress cannot purposefully enact legislation that violates the Constitution, which the Accords do on their face. They are illegal, and the ACLU went to court and won against their enforcement on two key issues: mandatory conscription and denial of due process.

"The President has the authority to enact a military draft, the Selective Service, if he so chooses. But of the Avengers, women do not register for the Selective Service, and Captain Rogers would be ineligible, both on the fact that he has already served the US Army honorably, and due to his age. The other male Avengers are also too old for the draft, and Sam Wilson, the current Captain America, is also an honorably discharged veteran. Mr Parker, however is not. And since the Selective Service would not apply to most enhanced individuals, conscription of these individuals to serve under an unelected panel composed of representatives who are mostly not US citizens, would be contrary to the 13th Amendment, which prohibits involuntary servitude. The Accords did not appear to allow an individual the right to decline to participate if the Avengers were to be deployed.

"The Accords required any enhanced individuals who agreed to sign to register with the UN and provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples, to reveal their legal names and true identities to the United Nations, submit to a power analysis, which would categorize their threat level and determine potential health risks, and wear tracking bracelets at all times. Anybody who signed would be prohibited from acting in any country other than their own unless they are first given clearance by either that country's government or by the UN. Those who did not sign would be unable to participate in police, military, or espionage activities, in or outside of their own countries, through private or governmental programs or agencies. If any of them break the law, they can be detained indefinitely without trial. The use of technology to provide artificial superhuman capabilities is strictly regulated, as is the use and distribution of highly advanced technology such as Asgardian or Chitauri technology or weaponry. The creation of true AIs--including Ultron and, apparently, the EDITH program-- was to be completely prohibited. The Avengers were no longer a private organization. All of the Avengers, including the ones like Clint Barton who are not enhanced, were to be considered bound by the Accords and several were in fact imprisoned on the Raft. 

"For the purposes of the Accords, an "enhanced individual" was defined as any person with superhuman abilities. However, individuals with advanced prostheses were not considered "enhanced", even if their prostheses give them capabilities beyond those of ordinary humans. This is where the Tony Stark loophole is located."

"What's this Raft thing?" another reporter shouted.

"I'm glad you asked, because this is another enormous problem," she said nicely. "It is a fully submersible prison in the North Atlantic, under the authority of the US Navy, also staffed by US Marshals. It was fully operational at the time of the Accords, and this means that it has been in the planning stage, construction, and operation for over a decade. Its purpose from the beginning was to serve as a dark site, where prisoners could be brought and made to disappear, including people like Captain America. This deprives US citizens of several critical rights, including habeas corpus, and the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 8th Amendments to the United States Constitution, which which requires a person in custody to be brought before a court, protects people from arbitrary arrests, from being deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process and the right to counsel; and the prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment. The lack of judicial proceedings would violate the 5th, 6th, and 7th Amendments. In the case of the Avengers imprisoned there following the fight in Germany, Miranda warnings were not issued. And in a special chase, when Wanda Maximoff was imprisoned on the Raft, she was held in a straitjacket, with a shock collar around her neck, and administered drugs to keep her compliant and incapable of movement, basically. We have been unable to locate a female on the rosters of the Navy crew or in the contingent of Marshals based on the Raft, which meant that any and all interactions, including medical treatment, would have been done by males. This is an abusive environment.

"Arguably, the fight at the German airport was self-defense, because of the unconstitutional denial of process of the Accords, and the UN's kill order on James Buchanan Barnes instead of an arrest warrant. Tony Stark and his team were attempting to enforce illegal orders. If this was a time of war, he and they would have been guilty of war crimes. Captain America and his team were within their rights to resist the attempted arrest. This split the Avengers, which prevented them from being optimally effective during the events leading up to the Snap. While reasonable regulation of superheroes is something that should be addressed, the Accords are not a viable solution, and indeed, have been disregarded throughout the world. It should be additionally considered that those with prostheses that give power, like the Iron Man suits, and those mutants or mutates who intend to be criminals from the start are not and would never be signatories to the Accords. How are they to be kept in check without the superheroes?

"I would like to draw your attention to several pertinent activities. Under Obediah Stane's guidance, Stark Industries sold weapons to terrorists. Where was government oversight? It is illegal for American companies or individuals to sell weapons to terrorists or terrorist organizations. And I submit that Tony Stark never stopped making weapons. He merely reserved them for himself and his friends. You may recall that he firmly refused to turn over his technology to the US government, bragging that he had managed to privatize defense, and attempts to confiscate the technology were never made by the government beyond Colonel Rhodes' liberation of a single suit. He continued to be a merchant of death, a private arms dealer, with no restraint and of questionable psychological stability. An Army experiment created the Abomination, which destroyed part of New York City. SHIELD violated Bruce Banner's civil rights by searching all electronic communications without a search warrant, led to the invasion of Earth by the Chitauri with its experimentation using alien technology, and allowed Hydra to grow within its ranks, culminating in the creation of technology--again with the assistance of Tony Stark--that would have probably facilitated a coup by killing 11 million Americans in minutes. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner were responsible for the creation of both Ultron and the synthetic life form known as Vision. While the latter was not a threat during its lifetime, Ultron is directly responsible for the destruction that led to the Sokovia Accords, and Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are directly responsible for that. The other Avengers seemed to spend quite a lot of time cleaning up after Stark."

This all excited quite an uproar in the press, and the lawyer guided Steve and Peter around them as they angled to get interviews and reactions from the senators on the panel. They joined May, Ned, Bucky, and Sam at the curb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to cap-is-bi on tumblr.
> 
> The legal information and excellent analysis comes from http://thelegalgeeks.com/2016/05/10/why-the-sokovia-accords-are-unconstitutional/
> 
> Additional information on the Sokovia Accords: https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Sokovia_Accords


	15. Are we growing up or just going down?

When Steve woke up the next morning, he found that many things had happened after the hearing. It seemed pretty well settled that there would be some kind of inquiry into Tony Stark's actions as Iron Man, but being dead, he'd still be escaping the consequences of his actions. Stock prices for Stark Industries had tanked, but it would recover as memory of the scandal faded. There were also questions about what Pepper Potts had known about Tony's activities, particularly regarding Peter Parker, and there was evidence that she had known that Tony was deliberately endangering a child. She and Happy would be on the hot seat for that. In other arenas, people were examining her past; the jump from Tony's personal assistant who followed him around and cleaned up his messes straight to the CEO of the business empire had raised a few brows back in the day, she was smart and capable but it wasn't clear if she had a college degree, let alone an MBA or law degree, and there were calls for an audit to determine if she'd funneled assets from the company to her husband's superhero activities to the detriment of the business. Commentators noted that her promotion appeared to coincide with the beginning of their on-and-off relationship, and it was conceded that even though she had done good work with the board of directors, the optics of it were terrible. Less charitable people were saying she'd earned her promotion on her back. Death threats aimed both at her and Morgan Stark had already started. Steve shook his head. Tony was responsible for Tony's poor choices; Pepper had tried to keep him reined in but ultimately had little power over him, and the child had no responsibility at all. It wasn't her fault. Reluctantly, he made himself a Twitter account. It seemed like the format was best for short statements, which were his favorite kind. His first tweet was to acknowledge the incredible damage done by Stark's decisions, but stressed that his daughter had no responsibility for her father or his actions, and added that people who threatened the well-being of a child should be ashamed of themselves.

It probably wouldn't have any effect anyway.

He met Bucky and Sam for breakfast, and they checked out of the hotel and took the train back home. By the time they reached New York, Steve was done with Fullmetal Alchemist and hit a bookstore on the way home to buy the next volume. And he picked up the first volumes of Berserk, Death Note, D Grey-man, Slam Dunk, Vagabond, Gunsmith Cats. And he got recommendations from the store clerk for anime too, along with an explanation of the difference, including Howl's Moving Castle, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, InuYasha, and A Wind Named Amnesia. What Studio Ghibli was. Bucky, who had waited with him while he browsed this new interest, said that he should get a Netflix account. Or Hulu. Amazon Prime.

"You don't have one?" the clerk asked incredulously. "Man, even my grandparents have Netflix, and they're ancient." Steve flushed and handed over his credit card. "Oh, uh. Sorry, Captain Rogers," he said weakly, and moved quickly to bag his new books.

Bucky kindly waited until they were out of the store before bursting into laughter.

"And how long have you known about Netflix?" Steve asked, nettled. "Because you're even older than me."

"Since after the Unsnappening," Bucky conceded, not wanting to revisit the misstep of "Netflix and chill." Or share it with his best friend. They walked down the street, making the correct turnings for the apartment building, where Steve had just moved in. As the owner, he claimed a corner apartment, the first one that was mostly finished. There were some details still to go in, and he'd personally selected finishes he liked, higher end. That some construction was going on was the reason he'd not really unpacked. That, plus he didn't have much anymore, having given away almost everything before going back for the debacle in the past. Bucky was still in his old apartment and refusing to move because he didn't want to box and move his stuff or worse, have to deal with the hassle of updating his address with everything, but he'd agreed to have the wall knocked down and the small studio apartment next door added to his so he could have a one-bedroom apartment. Steve had allowed him to pick out the finishes and details that he liked the best too since he was determined to hunker down. The building was feeling a lot more like home for both of them these days.

The winter gave way to a wet spring, and Steve watched his buddy go through a few new phases, one of which he liked and one of which he wasn't sure he approved of. The first was that Bucky started paying more attention to his surroundings and his wardrobe. Steve quietly had the blueprints for that apartment altered to include a walk-in closet. Bucky moved beyond jeans and henleys to a clean and classic style, suitably updated for a new millennium: well-tailored suits, better fitting jeans (now that he was no longer trying to be anonymous, time and events had pretty much washed him from the public consciousness), shamelessly tight t-shirts, dress shirts that highlighted his broad shoulders and trim waist, dress slacks, sleek sweaters, and in what Steve privately considered a fit of insanity (but one that did amazing things for Bucky's butt and thighs) leather pants. His leather motorcycle jacket. A long overcoat for cold winters, gloves, scarves. He kept only his favorite retro Brooklyn Dodgers ball cap. Good shoes and boots. He looked effortlessly magnetic, masculine, and up-to-date, but with old fashioned touches like the crisp-pressed linen handkerchiefs, monogrammed silver cuff links, and the bay rum aftershave he still favored.

The trend that Steve was more concerned with was what he privately thought of as Bucky's promiscuous phase, where he seemed to be banging anybody who caught his eye. All he could do was gingerly ask if Buck was using protection. He'd smirked and showed Steve the cabinet in his nightstand, impressively stocked with a rather astonishing variety of condoms, a few different kinds of lube, and an assortment of sex toys. Steve's face had flamed, and Bucky had dropped the subject, blandly talking about school instead. Steve talked to Sam about it privately, and Sam thought that it was more of a way to pass the time than a descent into sex addiction, pointing out that Bucky was really busy, with a heavy class load and serious therapy commitments, and that sex was the only social activity he had aside from school, working out, and the odd movie or outing to a bar with his narrow circle of friends. He thought that Bucky treated sex like an intimate and fun workout rather than a bonding activity.

Spring, aside from this concern, was shaping up to be good for them. Both Steve and Bucky were doing well in their classes, Sam was settling well into his role as Captain America, and although Steve got plenty of on-line hate for his appearances in Washington and 'tarnishing the legacy of the American hero Tony Stark,' he rarely had anybody actually approach him. Even then, they drew close with requests for selfies or autographs. Summer was hot and dry, with prolonged heat waves that had everybody grouchy. Not even Steve and Bucky, no fans of the cold, enjoyed quite that much atmospheric warmth. As summer semester passed the halfway mark, Bucky started looking for a job, and Steve started to feel like he might be getting done with the survivor group. Ava made him think about why he was still attending; he'd pretty much made his peace with his actions after the Snap, realizing that he couldn't in fact go back to change anything but could do better going forward. She'd worked through her issues arising from that time, and she was firmly pointed ahead into the future , an inspiration to him. At the end of meeting in the first week of August, she'd addressed the group.

"I want to thank you all for everything you've done to help me deal with the issues I had as a result of the Hiatus and all," she said. "I think it's time for me to move on now." And there was a range of emotions from the others, who'd formed a tight-knit group in that undistinguished room of the community center. Everybody was happy for her, although some of their members struggled with anger and sorrow that they weren't progressing fast enough to step away from the support of the group, anyway. Afterward, Steve took her to the pub they frequented and bought celebratory drinks. He was in the part of the group of being happy for her--and she seemed lighter, as if the mental weight she'd shed was also physical, carrying baggage the size of a little purse rather than the steamer trunks they'd both been lugging around--but also concerned about being left behind. He circled his glass of ale on the table.

"I'm really glad for you," he said sincerely, then looked at her with a wry smile. "But I'm also going to miss this." He gestured to the pub around them, where the musicians were tuning up.

"We can still get together," she said. "There was a time when I never thought I could say this truthfully, but I'd miss not seeing you, Steve." They smiled at each other. He felt better.

"When are you coming by to look at the apartments?" he said.

"Soon," she said. He pressed her a little. "I'm just finishing up my first project on my new job. I'm getting a promotion to project manager for my next one, so I promise I will stop when I can." He was content with that, not wanting to press her. He had other worries, a little concern on another front, because Bucky had apparently turned into a monk, just like that. And said he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

A week later, he threw a small graduation party for Bucky, who was able to announce that he'd also gotten a new job. A good company, fairly new, but rising on the scene and well respected. He'd be an architectural technician, and after his first year, they'd start paying for the classes he'd need to get his bachelor's degree. He'd been assigned to an experienced technician to show him the ropes, and would spend the first month shadowing him before getting his own responsibilities, still working with his mentor.

"And...?" Wanda prompted him, sensing something. Bucky huffed a breath.

"Ava works at the firm. In fact, she's the project manager I'll be reporting to." Sam whistled. Everyone exchanged glances.

"How do you feel about that?" Steve asked, mindful of his psychology classes. "How did that happen?"

"She was brought into the room with the technician who'll be training me, the HR rep when they were making me the offer wanted her to meet me," he said. "They wanted her impression, since I'll be working on her team first. She said she was fine with it, but because she wasn't sure of the company policies, she wanted to disclose a prior relationship with me. They asked if it would be a problem for her, and she said no, in fact that she expected me to be creative and diligent and excel. She left, the HR guy muttered that he wished his ex was like that, and they asked me if I'd have a problem working for her. When I said no, they made the offer. I went over after my last final to do the paperwork, they introduced me to the team, and she went out of her way to welcome me to the first project meeting."

"That's good, but it's unlikely she'd be unprofessional," Sam said. "You knew she was classy to begin with. How do YOU feel."

"Do they have rules about dating coworkers?" Wanda asked slyly at the same time. Bucky went red.

"No. But she's not going to want to date me," he said flatly. "Not after I overreacted and dumped her. She's moved on, anyway. I saw a guy waiting for her after work one day. Besides, I really like it at the company. I don't want to mess that up." He brooded briefly. "It seems like a great team; everybody knows what they're doing, they use computer programs to keep everybody in the loop, plus the subteams communicate in their own chats and channel, it seems fun. It's not just work, people post GIFs, jokes along with the information. There's beer o'clock Friday afternoon or Happy Hour at one of the bars nearby. We apparently get donuts at every team meeting."

"Well, donuts," Wanda said, smiling. "We don't get donuts at team meetings." Sam just rolled his eyes. Sometimes being the Captain was a pain in the ass. Besides, he couldn't eat too many donuts or he wouldn't be able to get into his tac suit, which showed off his own very fine butt. He didn't have Steve's metabolism, the bastard.

"It's going to be a great learning experience. And they said that if there's a problem, that there are places on two of the other three teams where I could work. They're working on expanding to another team, too." And they'd said that if the relationship started up again to tell them, they'd place him on one of those teams so that the relationship wouldn't interfere with the project or the development of either of their careers, not that they expected Ava to take advantage like that. But he wasn't going to mention that. He felt so lucky she hadn't raised valid concerns about his mental stability or complain that he was a jackass.

A couple hours later, Sam and Wanda left. "Thanks for the party," Bucky said to Steve, helping him clean up the little mess. Mainly, it was just him using the vacuum for the crumbs, and Steve tying up the trash.

"You're welcome, Buck, your first degree needs a celebration. And I'm going to be angling for one when I graduate, just so you're prepared. So is the job why you've been spending your nights alone these days?" Steve asked. "Not that I'm passing judgment, it's just I can't imagine how you maintained your GPA on such little sleep." Then wanted to bite his tongue; he knew that The Asset had often been kept up for days at a stretch in order to accomplish Hydra's goals. But Bucky smiled a little.

"Realized that I was trying to fill her place in my bed," he said. "It was all just exercise anyway." He batted idly at the balloons that Steve had gotten for his party. "And I was wondering." Steve waited.

"Yes?" he asked with exaggerated patience.

"What's the landlord's policy on pets?" he asked, turning his stormy blue-gray eyes to meet Steve's bright blues squarely.

"No snakes," he said immediately. "Or spiders, for Christ's sake. Or rodents, don't want any escapees after we've just gotten rid of the rat colony in the basement. I guess I could be persuaded for cats or dogs, as long as they're housetrained and not destructive or too barky." Then he leaned forward and tugged at Bucky's t-shirt. There were some short darker hairs on his side. Steve quirked a smile.

"I found a stray cat," Bucky said apologetically. "Starving, scared. She's at the vet, she's got a couple of issues, and she's getting spayed. I want to be a responsible owner." Steve's smile gentled.

"What kind of a cat is it?"

"Mostly Russian Blue," Bucky said. "According to the vet. The fur is darker and thicker than usual, but she's got the bright green eyes. Dainty."

"What are you going to name her?"

"Natasha." The two friends smiled at each other. "That was good cake," Bucky said. "I liked the frosting." Steve's impressive chest puffed out.

"I made it," he bragged. "Southern Living recipe. I remember my mom making me a plain cake like that, my last birthday before I went to art school." That was shortly before she'd died. "Thought I'd try an ambitious frosting." It was an French meringue buttercream, dashed with colorful sprinkles.

"I remember that," Bucky said. "She gave you a sketchbook." Mrs Rogers had stopped taking medicine by then; it wasn't doing anything and she didn't want to waste the money. She'd put it toward the sketchbook, the expensive sugar and vanilla for the cake, and a nice dinner to which Bucky'd been invited. He'd given Steve colored and regular pencils and some charcoal sticks. That cake hadn't had frosting. "She'd be surprised you turned into such a good cook." Steve grinned.

"It took awhile; I used to make food either burned or raw, couldn't afford to waste it and throw it out. You stopped coming over for dinner, then you came up with the tactic of volunteering to make it, you'd say sit down, you've had a long day." Bucky smiled back. Steve snorted. "You were the one on patrol, I was just sketching."

And frequently sick, or getting sick, or just getting over something. "Learning and practicing takes a lot of concentration and energy," Bucky said. "Normally, I just walked my beat, talked to people, broke up a few fights."

"I'm so glad I have this second chance," Steve said. "With you, here. It's a weird time, but I'm glad I'm here."

"Me too, punk." They smiled at each other. "So do you have any plans for Labor Day?"

"Nope," Steve said, stretching. "Want to go to Coney Island?"

"We could ride the Cyclone," Bucky said wickedly, and Steve laughed.

"I can take it, jerk. Next year the roof will be fixed, there'll be a little garden area, a place to cook out, some tables and chairs. We could have some people over for a barbecue." They talked, making plans, and Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content. This warm, like he really belonged. Before the war, for certain. As the sun started to set, Bucky stretched.

"I'm glad you came back, Stevie. I missed you." He stood up, gathering his gifts.

"Home's where the heart is, Buck. And it's never home without you."

"You're such a flirt, Rogers."

"Took long enough to learn," he said. Before the war, he'd been at best prickly, at worst surly, the chip on his shoulder so big he couldn't walk straight that also served as an effective shield for his heart of gold and sterling qualities. "But no, I'm terrible at it. It's for the best that I'm not looking to settle down with a missus."

"Friends last longer anyway," Bucky muttered. Wisely, Steve said nothing, because it was Bucky's fault that he was alone.

"Took me awhile to figure out that what I wanted wasn't the past, it was the future. Wide open, not limitless, but this is a time when we have so many possibilities, Buck. Our future can be free of the things that marked us back then. Dark times, hard actions, no money, few prospects... we find our friends and family, and life is rich." Bucky smiled at him; optimism looked good on Steve Rogers. And in the late summer sun, he looked like the golden boy he was. Bucky felt more like a creature of the night, needing to hide in corners to avoid scaring the children, but he also knew that on the surface, his face was still handsome, his body attractive. People didn't even seem to mind the arm any more. It was just his soul that was marked.


	16. I just stand by and let you fight your secret war

Bucky went to the team meeting the next day with some updates about an issue with the foundation of the project building and what the architect recommended, but the meeting was late to start and there were no donuts. Ava was late. Finally Nelson, her boss, hustled in. "Ava was mugged last night," he said right off. "She's got a concussion, cuts and scrapes, and a knee injury, so she'll be out for at least a couple of days. It's not an ideal solution, I know, but I'll fill in until she's cleared to come back." And they went around the table, everybody bringing their updates and issues. Ben and Bucky described their situation, and Nelson jotted this down to take to the client. Once everybody was happy, the meeting was over. Bucky had to go check on the rebar situation--their order had been shorted for some reason, and he didn't know if he should call Ava anyway, if she'd want to hear from him. So he kept his mind on work, nailing down the details and finding solutions to the problems he uncovered. They weren't major problems; the construction company and the architects were experienced and well-regarded, but on a project of this size, there were no shortage of little problems that had to be resolved. Fortunately, Ben was an excellent architectural technician, good at explaining things, and Bucky was learning a lot.

So he kept his concern to himself until he went home, dumped his stuff, and went up for a beer with Steve. They stretched out in the sofa recliners--this was excellent modern technology--and watched the game, eating pizza. Bucky mentioned the mugging, and Steve looked uncomfortable. Bucky reached over and poked his friend in the side where he was a little ticklish. "What?"

"It happened nearby, last night," he said, swatting back. Dammit. Bucky had eaten dinner out after work, making friends with some of the other employees, then hit the grocery store. He hadn't come home til late. "She agreed to come look at an apartment, but she was mugged, a couple of guys were hiding in the alley. Sam was over, he let me borrow his car, tracked down the muggers, retrieved her bag. She'd used pepper spray on them, practically had to pry the canister out of her hand. The cops wouldn't come out," Steve said angrily, "said she could come down to make a report. But she'll be ok, Buck."

"Doesn't really sound like it, from what Nelson said at the meeting."

"She has a grade 2 concussion, she was sensitive to sound and light, dazed, sluggish, had a balance problem. It had gotten better while she was at the urgent care, I took her to the one a couple streets over." Bucky nodded. "She had a big gash over her temple that had to be stitched, and her knee was swollen, reddish, and hot. They diagnosed some damage to the ACL, but not enough that surgery should be needed. She'll have to do some PT, they gave her a brace and crutches." He sighed. "I insisted on her staying the night here, so I could monitor. I'd signed her out." Bucky's initial reaction was to yell about why he hadn't been told, but he thought things through a little. He wasn't her boyfriend, she was kind of his boss. He grunted. "I did have to explain the whole "romantic asexual" thing to her, though. She was kind of nervous about me, said that there's often a disconnect between the private and public faces of famous people even though I seemed ok."

"How'd she take it?" Bucky asked, diverted. There would be an issue if Ava had been rude to Steve.

"Totally fine, actually. I was kind of surprised, but on the other hand, people these days are often a lot more accepting of non-heterosexuality." Except online; he'd checked out support groups and communities, and been taken aback by people's denial of asexuality as a valid choice, that he just hadn't met the right person yet or just had a low sex drive. And romantic asexuality seemed to be a contradiction to them. He'd muttered a curse and not gone back to those sites. He didn't really feel like he needed support, anyway. Bucky and Sam were fine with it, which was what he needed. "She said that she got a monastic vibe from me anyway, whatever that means, and after some reflection, thought that it made perfect sense. She relaxed a lot. Said that there'd been an outside chance that I was one of those guys who say they want to be a woman's friend but were just waiting to make a move, or a closet date rapist. That's a terrible thing to do," he said, diverted, and Bucky nodded. "So she slept out on the recliner so she could keep her knee elevated, refused to take the bed. Sam went to the 24 hour pharmacy and picked up a bottle of Tylenol for her. I put the step stool into the shower so she could wash off the blood but not worry about falling over, and after her hair dried she went to sleep. She was much better this morning, left this afternoon. Wanda came over to drive her home." Bucky thought about all this.

"So did she ever see the apartment?" Steve rubbed his face, smiling.

"Yeah, actually. I showed her a couple of the units on this floor before she left, explaining the differences, how it was all going to work out, because nothing's finished yet."

"What did she say?" Bucky asked patiently.

"She liked them, especially the corner one since it has two extra windows. And she really liked that the elevator is working. Would it be a problem if she moved in again?"

"He asks, after showing her," Bucky said, kidding his friend, who rolled his eyes. "No, she's entitled to live wherever she wants. I won't bother her."

"I meant if you would have a problem."

"I know. No, I'm fine. She'd be a good tenant." And it would serve Bucky right to have this reminder of how much he screwed up. Sam might be right, he was a little dramatic. Steve sighed.

"Well, she's not in a condition to decide right now," he said. "And her lease still has a couple months to run." Bucky grunted, and they went back to watching the game. The conversation revived, turned to what Bucky was doing at work and Steve's classes. Steve got out his sketchbook and started a portrait of his friend, who was used to it. They talked about Steve's plans to be an art therapist; Steve had run a therapy group for survivors of the Hiatus, but acknowledged that he hadn't been too successful since he'd been obsessed with Peggy, who'd died years before the Snap.

It took two more days until Ava came back to work, and even then she had a couple of half-days before the concussion was healed. He didn't realize that she was the one who supplied the donuts until she crutched into the team meeting carrying bags of them. He jumped up to help her, then ghosted over to the coffee machine to brew her a cup, doctoring it the way he knew she liked. They gave updated reports to get her back up to speed, Nelson chipping in where applicable, and they received new assignments and things to follow up on. Later that afternoon, he dropped by her office to hand off some paperwork, an inspection report.

"Oh, good," she said, leafing through it. "Finally. I thought we'd never get an inspector down."

"At least it passed, and they can get started on the next phase." She nodded and put the report into a folder, patting it with satisfaction. He passed over a package of two new pepper spray canisters. The small size that was legal in the city. He knew she always had one in her hand when she walked anywhere at night. "I'm sorry you were hurt, I know Steve feels terrible about it."

"It's not so bad," she said.

"You had a bad concussion. You're still on crutches," he pointed out, a little flabbergasted.

"The concussion's healed, my knee isn't as bad as they thought. I've already ditched the brace, and in a couple of days, I start going without the crutch. I've had worse." She looked at him; he was unconvinced. "Close the door and sit down." It wouldn't do a lot of good; the fronts of the offices were all glass and once she'd joked at a meeting that she felt like she was in a terrarium. He swung the door closed and perched on one of the two chairs across her desk. She leaned forward and kept her voice down.

"I'm not saying this to minimize the suffering you've endured. I certainly haven't had decades of torture and experimentation, but this also isn't a competition. I've had a lot of trauma myself following the Snap. I'm only going to say this once, so listen up. It wasn't just losing my parents, home, my sister leaving too. It was watching people turn to ash and fade away. I can't smell gasoline without thinking of the gas tanker that had a dusted driver; it rammed a streetlight and started to leak. A car hit it and burst into flame. The smell of the people burning... the explosion took out half a city block, the stench was unforgettable. During the Hiatus, I spent some time homeless, first living with other homeless down by the river, then in my storage unit, but at least I could access showers and toilets on campus. I had a job, all the hours I could handle, but it didn't pay much, not much did, plus the whole gray market furniture sales, and I was malnourished for most of the Hiatus because food was so expensive. Like a lot of people I haunted dumpsters for food that wasn't completely inedible, I knew where every soup kitchen was within a five mile radius of my location, I qualified for what government assistance there was, but there was never enough food for everybody. The university, in my last year, dug up its lawns and leased 10 x 10 feet plots for urban farming, and let us use its kitchen and equipment to preserve our food. The vegetables that I canned helped get me through the next three months, until I'd passed the exam to qualify as a civil engineer and finally got a job I could live on. I caught every disease that came around, it seemed--colds, the flu, pneumonia, bronchitis, some weird bugs. Every scratch I got seemed to get infected, and I had dysentery for the better part of two years that I couldn't shake because even Pepto, which is used for bacterial dysentery, was $20 a bottle and I couldn't afford it, couldn't pay for anything more than aspirin, actually, even if there was something available. I was raped once and assaulted on another occasion, probably would have been raped again but I hit the guy on the head with a brick. Might have killed him, don't know, don't care. I was beaten up a few times so that I could be robbed. I have one truly happy memory from the Hiatus, which was when I got my first job offer that let me get out of the storage unit and into an apartment. And this wasn't in any way unusual; there were homeless encampments all over the place because cops and private security kept squatters out of buildings, enforced occupancy limits, and there were massive disruptions of the food chain that took most of the Hiatus to work out. 

"I want you to know this so that you understand. I am not a victim. I am not a survivor, because people call you that like it's some kind of awkward, condescending, patronizing pity prize for your suffering. Or like you should be lauded for getting on with your life, of all the stupid things. Or because they want to be nice, but their approval of me is irrelevant. I am just someone who has had bad experiences, and I refuse to give them power over my life. It took a lot of hard work to get to this point. I refuse to let you or Steve or anyone pity me." She shrugged. "It hurt a hell of a lot more when you dumped me. This was just people preying on someone they thought was weaker than them. And it's true that while I am physically not as strong as most men, I have a degree of spitefulness that they are not expecting." And Bucky, flashing to hearing that an entire can of pepper spray had been discharged onto the two muggers, wasn't about to deny this. That she spent a few moments to make them really suffer when she was beat up and bleeding... was not to be underestimated.

"You want to do something for me? Just respect me. Because I don't think that you do. Spare me your pity, your sorrow, whatever. I don't need it, can't use it, don't want it." Bucky's eyes had gotten bigger as she spoke. He didn't know how he'd missed this much steel in her before.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and fled.


	17. You might have a good time but we party harder

Steve was happy these days. Bucky was doing really well with his work and his therapy, which was backed off to once a month--the one-on-one with his therapist--and supplemented with new weekly sessions with a group. Everybody in the group had different problems, but they had all experienced deeply traumatic events, and Bucky said that listening to different approaches to these issues gave him good ideas as well as reminding him how far he'd come. Sam was working hard, being a Captain America everyone should be proud of, and he was happy. Wanda's control over her power was strong and she was also happy and busy. Steve was pleased with the progress that was being made on his apartment building, that he'd lured some key tenants back--including Matt the stylist and his girlfriend Gina, and Mrs Aguilar--and his biggest coup was when Ava said that she would move back when her lease was up. He reserved the studio on the fifth floor with the bay window for her. He was learning a lot in class, his art was improving, and all in all, life was good.

Bucky was the happiest he'd been since before he'd been drafted, overall. Work was interesting and stimulating, he'd been added to two more projects--low-level work, but he was making contacts and learning a lot--and he really enjoyed his co-workers. Steve had given him two really nice canvases to hang in his apartment; their brightness helped make the monochrome color scheme actually look planned rather than depression-inflected purchases, and he began to see why Ava might have thought that it was elegant. The insulation was in and the walls closed up again, painting done, and Steve had allowed him to choose the colors--a warm white for the walls and ceilings and a crisp white for the trim. The floors hadn't been done yet, but the new kitchen was in, and it included a microwave. He'd gotten some cookbooks and an Instant Pot; his mother would have loved it. But it was getting cold, and he was looking forward to an autumn of soups and stews. He was enjoying having a separate bedroom, and Sam had gone with him to choose some curtains for the window. The windows all had blinds, but there was the option to have curtain rods put up. He liked the feeling of shutting the world out in that room, and while the draperies were still gray, Sam had talked him into getting a luxury fabric for them so they'd be less depressing. He'd chosen a soft velvet, and enjoyed his ritual of opening the curtains each day, feeling the plush fabric under his fingers, pulling up the blind. There was a cat bed, a rich red fleece, carefully placed in the area which got the most sun, and this was where Natasha, now cured from ear mites, the eye infection, an abscess, a hurt paw, and parasites, curled up the most. Another saving grace of the gray furnishings was that the cat fur was almost unnoticeable.

And best of all, one evening there was a knock on Steve's door. He opened it to see Thor, still rather grave, but healthier and happier looking. There was manly hugging and smiles, and Steve put together an impromptu gathering in his apartment. There was a sizeable order of pizza that was delivered, and quite a lot of beer purchased and cooled in the refrigerator by the time everybody showed up. Sam and Steve caught Thor up on what they'd been doing, and Bucky explained his progress. He didn't know Thor much at all, but each of them could use another friend. And Thor explained that he'd had some adventures with Peter Quill and the Guardians but had come to realize that running away wasn't the solution to any problems or responsibility. So he'd returned to New Asgard and spoken to Valkyrie. She'd been glad to see him and they'd come up with a division of responsibility that suited them both. The remaining Asgardians had been delighted to see their king returned, in full strength and clear mind. It wasn't that they thought Valkyrie had done a bad job, it was simply that Thor was their king, they'd been patient, and now it was time for him to quit screwing around and do his job. And so he and Valkyrie had divided up responsibilities. It suited her well; she was finally getting some time to develop hobbies and friendships too, not working sixteen or eighteen hours a day. New Asgard was still growing and establishing its roots, and so Thor also got some physical work to do to make the new settlement a real home. He was in New York to consult with bankers to help with infrastructure and delighted to find his comrades. It was a merry night.

Made considerably more merry by Thor's contribution of a thousand-year old distilled Asgardian beverage, the very last of it in existence.

The next morning, a light but firm tapping on the front door woke the revelers. Somewhat. Some of them, anyway.

Sam whimpered pitifully.

Thor, the best off of all of them but not by much, staggered to his feet and answered, looking down at a pretty woman with beautiful thick dark hair. "Um... is Steve here?" she asked cautiously. "I'm here to sign my lease and move in." Thor grunted.

"Rogers," he started to bellow, then clutched his head.

"Oh, god," Steve croaked from the sofa. "Ava?"

"Yeah," the woman said, looking at the carnage on the floor. Apparently both Sam and Bucky had passed out there. There were beer cans and pizza boxes.

"The key is on the desk," Steve whispered. "We can sign the lease later. Could you please turn out the light?"

"It's not on," she said softly, suppressing a smile, but it leaked into her voice. Thor grunted and stood back. She found the desk, the key, and the lease. She picked up key and paper, left a check, smiled gently at Thor, and left. Thor carefully closed the door.

After as much deliberation he was capable of at that moment, Thor took a shower, changed into clean, casual clothing, and decided to leave the others to their hangovers. He knew that for himself, the effects of the drink would dissipate rapidly once he got moving, that Sam was going to want to die for the rest of the day, and he anticipated that the supersoldiers would be somewhere between the two points on this continuum, closer to his end. But now he was hungry and there was no use trying to get the others to make sense just yet, so he went in search of this Ava woman.

He found her a floor down, busily checking... things. She had a rough sketch of the apartment on a piece of paper and was sticking a thingie into the electrical sockets. The door was open, and he tapped the door frame. She looked up.

"Can I help you?" she asked briskly.

"I am Thor, friend of Steve. And of Sam and Bucky. They are still incapacitated. I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of a place where I could find some breakfast. I have not been here before." She straightened up.

"Well, there's a diner not far from here that serves a good breakfast. There's also a grocery store--" her phone rang. "Excuse me, I have to answer this." She listened, then sighed and said ok to whoever was calling. "Grr. The movers are going to be late."

"What are you doing?" Thor asked, curious.

"Well, before the movers start putting my things in, I wanted to check everything. This" she held up the thingie "tells you if the electrical sockets work, so that if you plug something in you know it's going to operate. The building has been extensively renovated, so it's worth checking, and one of them is dead. Might be just a loose wire." She crossed to the kitchen corner, opened the oven, and wrote down a number. "The oven heat matches the setting, I put a thermometer in there. Earlier I checked the burners with an infrared thermometer and that's good." She opened the refrigerator and took out a metal probe, checking a plastic case on the other end. "And the refrigerator temp is right." She stuck the probe into the freezer compartment. "The overhead lights work fine. The tile in the bathroom is a little messed up behind the door, but everything else looks great. Plumbing works." Her smile lit her face as she looked around at the small room, stroking the dark counter absently. Then she looked closer by the sink. "Ah. A nick in the soapstone." She marked that down on the diagram too.

It seemed nice enough to Thor, if too small, but not as special as the woman seemed to think. But he reminded himself that he could no longer call the golden citadel of Asgard home, and the house in New Asgard he shared with Korg and Miek was quantitatively dumpier than Steve's new building. "There are Pop Tarts at the store?" he asked. It was best to be sure.

"Yeah, but if that's what you're into, the diner has homemade ones." Thor perked up. It was quite a sight.

He extended an invitation to breakfast to her, which she accepted, having two hours to burn until her things showed up, and they went to the diner. Today they had strawberry pop tarts, and a good half of his enormous breakfast was these pastries. Ava looked bemused but put away a good-sized breakfast of her own, with pancakes, bacon, and eggs featuring, and a strawberry yogurt smoothie for her drink, a nod to balance. They talked as they ate, little things. Her job and relocation, how she knew Steve, his meetings with bankers and his adventures in space. She was sufficiently charmed to go to the grocery store with him, showing him the way, and recommending hangover treatments. She got a few bags of groceries, which he absentmindedly took from her. They chatted all the way back to the building; she returned to her unit and he went up one more flight. Inside, Steve and Bucky were showing bleary-eyed signs of life, and Thor poured large glasses of water for them as Bucky staggered off to the bathroom to pee and shower. Steve took some aspirin and chugged the water. By the time Bucky shut off the water, Steve was looking much better and was poking into the bags to see what else Thor had bought. Bacon and frozen waffles.

"Breakfast of champions," Thor said, laughing. Quietly; Sam was still asleep.

"Who said that?" Steve asked, getting out a pan to cook the bacon.

"Ava. She told me of a place that made home made pop tarts, Steve. Home made! They're superior to those in the packets."

Steve's answering grin skewed and he gripped his messy hair. "This is not how I wanted to greet my tenant," he said.

"How is that?" Thor asked absently, opening the waffles and looking around for the toaster, deftly inserting two and pushing down the lever.

"Sleeping off a hangover. Irresponsible. Geeze."

"She seemed friendly," Thor offered.

"She's hard to get to know, she keeps a calm face and a lot behind it. She's not a dust bunny, she's no wilting violet."

"She has a diagram of things that are not quite right in the apartment," Thor commented. "She checked out every inch, it seems. It is pleasant, but small."

"God," Steve muttered. "I need to get down there." Bucky wandered in, raking fingers through his thick wavy wet hair.

"Shower's free, Stevie." He took over the bacon, handing the first several pieces to his friend. Steve trotted off, crunching crispy pork. 

"You met Ava?" Bucky asked casually, flicking the waffles onto a plate and adding some butter, finding syrup in the pantry.

"Yes. She is an interesting woman." Bucky nodded. "How do you know her?"

"We dated." Bucky put the pan off the stove and put two more waffles in. Steve could have them or he would; he was ravenous. He was also pretty sure that Sam wasn't going to bounce back from the Asgardian booze very quickly. "It didn't end well. Now she thinks that I don't respect her." He looked up from his plate with a clueless expression. Thor asked a few questions and pushed the aspirin bottle over. He had centuries of experience with women, and this seemed like a rookie mistake. Bucky took an aspirin, although he was rapidly improving.

"She is right. You told her that the relationship was over--for her own good. You treated her like a child. You had the right to end your courtship, but you had no right to speak for her. You had your own reasons to terminate the romance, but you owed it to her to be truthful and say what those reasons were rather than projecting reasons onto her. She seems very capable of making up her own mind." Thor sipped his water and nodded. "She understands threat assessment. And it sounds as if she has a fine judgment about how much risk she is willing to run. And you denied her the opportunity to speak for herself." Bucky stilled, looking as if Thor had hit him with a board. Well, sometimes plain speaking was needed, Thor mused. It was certainly the approach that worked best on him.

Steve hustled out of his bedroom in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, looking vigorous if still slightly the worse for wear. His eyes were very patriotic, bright blue with bloodshot whites. The toaster pinged and the waffles jumped up; Sam moaned wretchedly from the floor. Steve tried not to grin and plated the waffles, adding the syrup and butter, eating quickly. He trotted into the hall and down the stairs. He was halfway down before he realized he was missing his shoes. Or socks. Ugh. He was never going to drink with Thor again. But he padded down to the door and knocked.

"So sorry," he apologized profusely when she opened the door. Ava smiled and let him in. "Thor just showed up, I haven't seen him for a long time--"

"So I understand. His adventures with the Guardians were very interesting."

"Oh. When did you hear them?"

"We went to breakfast. My movers are running a little late." And they went over the testing she'd done and her observations. He said he'd get the maintenance man up to look at the outlet, and he'd get somebody to fix the tile problem. Both of them were satisfied, and both parties signed the lease. At that time, the movers showed up, and he took the lease back to his place to file. He put shoes on and went down to notify the maintenance guy; Stan was long gone and he had a very competent worker.

He saw a moving van pull up outside and double park. After ascertaining that they were here with Ava's stuff, he opened the doors and flicked down the little legs that would keep them open. The four movers went upstairs with a clip board, and Steve went back up too; Pete the super was getting a few tools and would be along in a minute. So he was just in time to hear the movers try to shake down Ava for more money, threatening to hold her possessions until she paid an additional five thousand dollars. In cash.

"Let's call the cops and have them sort this out," she said, completely unimpressed by their threatening looming and reaching for her new smart phone (courtesy of her employer.) "Because I have the signed contract right here, with the agreed-upon payment listed here, clear as day." The man pointed out that there had been some unspecified incident that increased the costs, and she pointed out the guaranteed delivery time, which had been passed over an hour ago, and the clause that entitled her to money for breach of contract. She called the cops, despite the mover's desperate attempts to backpedal, and the fuss that Steve had raised over the city's negligence in replacing the streetlight and threats to point out in the press that the only places where the cops went willingly these days were rich people's enclaves had born fruit; a patrol car pulled up five minutes later. The police listened to both parties, corroborated where necessary by Steve, and arrested the movers, calling for backup and an extra squad car to take them away. This did create a problem, but Steve went upstairs and pressed his friends who were not still hungover into action. Ava was bringing in the first box and sighed when Steve volunteered them to help.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. "I was working to figure out how to move the big pieces without breaking them or me."

"No problem," Bucky said, and carefully picked up the folding carved wooden screen, which felt much heavier than it looked. Steve tucked the coffee table under his arm and picked up a mirror box. Thor stayed to watch the truck, and they told Ava to stay put, that they'd bring her things up, she could check them off the inventory and look for damages, and direct the placement of the furniture. The men alternated watching the truck with carrying the furniture in--they were all grateful that the elevator was working--and they'd found a hand truck and furniture dollies, helping them out considerably. It was still work to get the heaviest pieces up the three steps before they could be placed on the dollies, especially the step chest, wardrobe, and the sofa. Ava had furniture gliders ready--like coasters under the feet of the furniture that would make moving the pieces easier for cleaning. She'd also called the company and the business, which had an A+ rating at the BBB, was sending people to mitigate the mess and pick up the truck.

"People are coming, you don't need to bring everything in," she said the next time Steve and Bucky came in with a hand truck full of boxes and her bed frame.

"It's fine," Bucky said quietly. "Who knows when they'll get here, and maybe they'll still try to shake you down. It would be inadvisable for them to try, but it's better that all your things are removed from their vehicle."

"I think we're doing a good job," Steve said with satisfaction. "We could have a moving business on the side, Buck--" and they left.

It wasn't long before everything was up in her apartment, the moving pads taken off the furniture, and she'd hastily hung her things in the wardrobe so that the wardrobe box that she'd used could also be returned to the back of the truck. She waited until the company rep showed up, apologized profusely, and discounted the cost considerably, essentially the cost of gas plus two hundred dollars. Ava was very impressed. She returned to her apartment and started unpacking her boxes. A week later, she invited the three men to Thanksgiving dinner.


	18. What am I supposed to do, sit around and wait for you?

Thor was intrigued by the thought of Thanksgiving, which he'd never celebrated before, and made arrangements to stay. Sam and Wanda regretfully bowed out; they were committed to the official Avenger's celebration, which included appearing in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and the dinner later on. Steve was glad to be spared that part. Bucky was pretty sure she didn't want him there and had invited him because it would be awkward not to, but accepted nonetheless. With Steve and Thor going and Sam and Wanda elsewhere, he'd be spending it alone if he didn't. And she'd invited Matt and Gina, too, mentioned that she'd invited her sister, who couldn't get the time off so soon after taking up her position at the hospital.

They'd been given a half-day on Wednesday; Ava was off like a shot afterward, but Bucky went to lunch with some coworkers, and was thus a little later coming home. He wanted to change and go for a run, ending up at the gym for some time with the heavy bag. He only trusted himself to box with Steve now; Thor didn't know how or he'd have roped him in. When he got home, he noted someone in a hoodie, examining the intercom system. There were no names on the buttons, just the apartment numbers, for safety and security. He ghosted closer.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

The figure whipped around so fast that the hood fell off, exposing red hair and familiar features he'd never thought he'd see again.

"James?"

Bucky actually staggered a step. "Natalia?" he whispered in disbelief, then they were hugging and speaking Russian. Natasha said that he should have gotten a text--there was going to be a get-together at the Avengers complex. He checked; it was there. They went to the garage where she laughed over his retro-inflected motorcycle, and they drove out to the complex. Steve, just getting out of class, wasn't far behind them, and they ended up staying overnight.

Barton and Professor Hulk had somehow talked Quill and Rocket--who had gone to Missouri to see Quill's family-- into borrowing the Benetar and going to Vormir. Barton had stopped to banter with the bitter guy with the gaunt red head but Professor Hulk had blown right past them and off the cliff. Shocked, Barton had leaned over and seen the Hulk at the bottom of the cliff, a dainty trickle of blood running away from the body. But just as the sacrifice had registered, he saw something stirring--and he woke up in the water with the Soul stone and Hulk, de-Bannered. Permanently, apparently. Banner had sacrificed himself, a life for a life. And Barton had given the stone to Hulk, who used it to bring back Natasha. Because of the nature of her sacrifice, she couldn't be UnSnapped; another life was needed to balance the scales. They left the stone on Vormir and came home. The Hulk was somewhat problematic, but as on Sakkar, had his own personality back and a much better range of self-control.

While the active Avengers left early the next morning in their costumes for the parade, the others, including Nick Fury and Maria Hill, woke to a late breakfast and caught up on their own stories. When the others got back, they had a decent Thanksgiving dinner and watched the football games, chatting and enjoying the reunion. "I gotta go," Bucky said around eight. "I have work tomorrow--" and his words hung, like the WiFi had just gone out.

"Buck?" Steve asked, yawning.

"We were supposed to have Thanksgiving dinner at Ava's today."

"Oh, shit," Steve said, sitting up straight.

"Language!" most of the people in the room chorused sternly.

"No, this friend in our building invited us to dinner," Steve said, horrified. Thor frowned.

"I had forgotten in the rejoicing of Natasha's return," he said. "Did none of us remember?"

Nope, it turned out. Bucky and Steve left hastily.

Ava was not at home, nor were Matt and Gina.

Steve and Bucky wrote apologies, sliding them under her door. There wasn't anything else they could do. The whole hall was still scented deliciously. Much better than the dinner that had been catered for the Avengers.

The next day, Bucky tried to apologize in person, but she had the weekly meetings with other project managers, updating their manager on progress and potential trouble spots, working through lunch which was brought in. In the afternoon, she was off site, looking at a new project she was being assigned.

Steve ran into Gina at the mailboxes. Gina was quiet but one of the nicest people he knew, and she was positively chilly, looking balefully over the scarf she used to conceal the scars on her neck, jaw, and lower cheek. "You really missed out," she said in a clipped voice. "Ava made a huge dinner because she said you all eat a lot. Homemade dinner rolls that I'll never make, they take three risings, two types of pie and chocolate mousse, all sorts of vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, a small ham besides the turkey, because she didn't want anybody to go away still hungry." Her eyes slit. "It was fantastic. She's been taking cooking classes here and there, she's a terrific cook. She gave us a lot of leftovers, we helped her take the rest down to a homeless shelter. You guys are real pieces of work, you know that? You couldn't even be bothered to call to give whatever bullshit excuse you had."

"One of our friends literally just returned from the dead," Steve pointed out defensively as justification.

"And that's great for you all, I'm sure," Gina said, unimpressed. "But that seems to happen a lot with your bunch. Dead people who aren't actually dead for keeps. Ava is worth at minimum a text. You didn't ask her to do it, but she was working past midnight to get the baking done on Wednesday, she was up early on Thursday. Everything was lovely, and she was wearing a beautiful dress, she was a great hostess. It was the first time I know of that she's been able to entertain, and it meant a lot to her, that she could afford to have guests, a nice dinner. Better than nice. And you blew all that planning and preparation and saving off like it was nothing. Oh, right, you didn't know. Because you didn't show up." And she stomped up the stairs.

Oh, they'd really screwed up. Maybe he should have asked if they could bring Natasha with them. But it had also been really nice to have most of the old group together again.

"We should have come back anyway," Steve said to Bucky later. "She'd gone to all that effort. We could have gone out again, or... something."

"I know," Bucky said, rubbing his face. "Dammit. I was just so surprised to see Natalia again, I completely forgot. At one time Natalia was the only thing that made my life worth living at all." He sighed heavily. "I want--wanted to apologize to Ava after the holiday for shoving her away, ask her if she could give me a second chance. Damn it. I could not have screwed up more if I'd had a gun and a plan." They each went down once after dinner, but nobody answered when they knocked.

Saturday, Steve caught sight of her getting into a car with other women, and neither of them saw her come home. On Sunday, though, Steve got lucky and saw her in the lobby. She was coming home, pink-cheeked, worn ice skates with knotted laces over her shoulder, blades protected with guards. Her smile diminished when she saw him. She looked at him coolly, then went around him to the mailboxes. There was a sizeable amount of junk mail, more of the sales and catalogs for Christmas shopping, which she tipped into recycling, saving a couple of envelopes. She started for the stairs, stiffening when he caught her arm. He dropped it like it was on fire.

"I'm sorry. I was so thoughtless, we all were. Natasha Romanov showed up on Wednesday. She died to get one of the Infinity stones, that was supposed to be that, Bruce couldn't bring her back with the second Snap. And it's the first time the rest of us have been together since we finally beat Thanos."

"I get that," she said. "Old friends are precious. You guys saved the world." She actually didn't sound sarcastic, which was pretty surprising, all in all. "And I'm not anything special. You were rude, but you're not responsible for my feelings. It's just that I would have appreciated a text saying you'd had a better offer."

"It wasn't like that--" he started.

"It was exactly like that," she cut in over him. "Go step on a Lego, Steve." She opened her purse, checked around a little--it was a small purse--and extracted an envelope. "There's my rent." And she stomped up the stairs; it was habit for her after the years of not having a working elevator here.

"Damn," Sam said later that night was they talked over the phone. "Those things hurt, man. She's got a point, though."

"I know," Steve said morosely.

That encounter seemed to have addressed her view of the disaster; the next week when he encountered her, she didn't mention it and was nice enough, but seemed closed off to any questions beyond a casual inquiry as to how she was. Bucky was careful to keep life outside the office away from their work interactions, and had nothing to report there; she was still friendly and a good team leader. But she quietly froze him out too. It seemed like she always had plans--and the holiday party season was starting--and once when they ventured to her apartment to see if she'd like to get a bite somewhere, she held the door open enough to show them that she was already making dinner. There was no invitation to join her, and Bucky and Steve retreated.

Sam and Wanda were sympathetic to a degree--everybody was glad that Natasha was back, but they kind of thought that Bucky and Steve got what they deserved. Sam had remembered to call his mom and talk to his family, so even the celebration didn't mean that he forgot everything else. Wanda didn't say much, but she was on Ava's side, understanding the work that goes into making holiday dinners and empathizing with being ghosted by the guests. Natasha said that while she was happy to see them, it had been rude to blow off the invitation. She was busy getting her life back; Clint returned money and the personal effects he still had, she had to get new identification, and she was weighing an offer to rejoin SHIELD.

She had run into Ava, returning home from a holiday party and dressed in a pretty holiday dress with a great perfume, and had expressed her regrets that Ava's Thanksgiving dinner had been negatively impacted by her return. Ava had been polite, but had shut her down completely when she tried to plead Bucky and Steve's case. "She said that while she understood that we were friends," Natasha told the men over drinks in Steve's apartment, gesturing among them, "that she and I were not, and she wasn't going to discuss it with me. And she wasn't rude, she was just stating her boundaries. Which I tried to push, me being me, but she patiently repeated it until I understood that she really wasn't interested in talking about it."

"That was probably a new experience," Steve teased her, and she swatted at him.

"Usually I can get some information out of almost anyone," she acknowledged. "I thought a moment about trying to seduce her, just to see if I could get her to crack, but she doesn't deserve that." Bucky's eyebrows rose. "Don't look at me like that. I don't like to lose, but enough damage has been done. People around the Avengers tend to get hurt."

"Not questioning your logic, Natalia," he said. "But what makes you think you could seduce her?"

"Most people aren't 0 or 6 or X on the Kinsey Scale," she shrugged. "If she's a 1, 2, or 3, I have some room to work. It wouldn't be a hardship, she's pretty, sexy in that dress, nice thick hair for tugging, smart. She's just got that something that makes me think she'd be good in bed. But as I said, she's got enough reason to think unkindly of us, and I'd rather not give her more just to satisfy my curiosity. Besides, she's your ex, and you work with her."

"I appreciate your forbearance," Bucky said dryly.

"Geeze, Nat," Steve said, blushing.

"I'm a spy," she said, shrugging. "Information is what I do. But not only would it be unkind to try to crack her, I don't think I could do it the easy and fun way. Duress would have to be applied, and I don't do that to friendlies."

"I think not," Bucky said, irritated. The conversation had taken a turn neither of the men were strictly comfortable with, and Bucky diverted the conversation into different channels. Natasha had accepted the offer to rejoin SHIELD, but as an analyst instead of an operative.

"Being dead wasn't bad, I don't remember anything, but given the second chance, I'd prefer not to spend it in the field. Fieldwork usually ends up hurting, but I'll miss the adrenaline rush, the thrill of the hunt," she said, and shrugged elegantly.

"Take up extreme sports," was Bucky's recommendation, which earned him a smile. They decided on a more sedate activity, a movie at a theater that brought refreshments to you rather than standing in line.

"Pretty swank," Steve judged, making Natasha smile. But Bucky remembered the days when they could just afford the cost of the tickets to a run-down theater, not the glamorous movie palaces, and not ones that were air-conditioned in the summer. The food turned out to be edible, not much more, but the novelty of being served while the picture was playing was enjoyable. The movie was full of car races and crashes and carefully staged fights; it was impossible for the three of them to snicker at the choreography or point out errors. They stopped the comments when they noticed the dirty looks, and kept the laughter down to chuckles. They had a lot of fun, but decided to come back sometime during the day, and wait til the picture had been open for a few weeks so the crowds would be much lighter and they could laugh and comment to their hearts' content.


	19. I fall to pieces

Bucky was pining.

He'd screwed things up miserably with Ava, and there seemed no chance of another opportunity. It was sometimes hard to work with her, but he retreated to the impassive face he'd had such a long time to perfect during his time as the New Fist of Hydra™ so as not to make things difficult. This close to the holiday, people were taking time off--days or just a few hours here and there, and it made scheduling meetings more difficult. Fortunately, this seemed to be the situation everywhere, and nobody fussed much about it, even the clients. And while he was getting put on more projects with the other managers, the week before Christmas, he was placed on the team forming around Ava for a new hotel in Midtown. Because this project was starting from the recently cleared site, there was much to do and they would be working closely together. Yay. A small team of them met on the construction site, lumpy from having the previous building knocked down and removed. The architects, the construction manager, Nelson, Ava, Ben, and Bucky discussed the project and immediately found an issue; the surveyors might have made a slight error and the architects needed to make sure their work was correct to make sure the building would fit on the lot as planned, if the surveyors were correct. They'd get another company to re-survey the site. It was freezing, even through winter coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, snow falling, so the meeting hit the highlights and the group adjourned as quickly as possible. The architects, construction manager, and Nelson flitted off; Ava, Ben, and Bucky had work to do back at the office and cut through the public parking garage next to the site. The client was negotiating to buy it and put up a taller one in its place to service the hotel and surrounding businesses for a price; it was only four stories above ground, a real waste of space. It had been meant for more; there were two subterranean levels and it had been planned for eight above ground, but the money had run out during construction.

They weren't talking much, being cold, and anxious to get to the subway, which was warmer. Bucky was a few steps behind, having accidentally dropped his phone, which had bounced under a fender.

As accustomed as he was to things going in the crapper in a hurry, Bucky was still surprised at what seemed like a simultaneous quaking and booming sound. Even as he fell, he recognized the use of explosives and cursed; he'd smelled the motor-oil odor of C-4 but dismissed it because they were in a garage. Also, he fumed that this was a dick move. He was retired.

The wind was driven out of him by his landing on his front, and he was being severely compressed by debris, making ribs crack. He squirmed free in desperation and slid several feet on the tilted cracked concrete before falling off and dropping down a couple of extra yards. He wheezed his lungs full of air again, sounding like PreSerum!Steve during a bad chest cold, and coughed from all the dust in the air. "Ava! Ben!" But the garage was still falling apart--Jesus, how much C-4 had been used? This was really overkill--and he couldn't hear anything, even with his enhanced hearing. He waited until movement was reduced to trickles of small diameter debris and tried again.

He heard a cough.

"Ava! Ben! Anybody?"

More coughing. "Bucky?"

A female voice. Ava. He closed his eyes, both in relief and to keep dirt from falling in them.

"Ava! Are you all right? Can you move your fingers and toes?"

"Yes, I can move my hands and feet," she said after a moment. "But I'm pinned here. Ben... is no longer with us. Are you ok, Bucky?" She sounded near tears, and this kicked his brain in gear. He was bruised and battered, his right kidney had been smacked by a chunk of concrete, in addition to the ribs, but these would heal. Importantly, he could move, and carefully inched toward the edge of his piece of garage closest to where her voice sounded. This slab was stable, at least right now.

"I've been worse," he said so she would know he was still there, and slowly poked his head over the edge.

"I can see you!" she said, sounding thrilled about it for the first time in a long time.

"I see you too, doll," he said, relieved down to his bones. He could see her head and shoulders. She was lying on her side. He scanned things below her. The layers seemed to be pretty much wedged into place, but that could still change. "Ava, what can you see above us? Does it look like it's going to collapse?" She studied the wreckage, and he ducked out of the way for a moment.

"Ok, Bucky," she called, and he poked his head back over to look at her. "Ok, this looks like a precast concrete parking garage." He looked at her blankly. "This means that a bearing pad is installed beneath the end of each double-t beam stem and under the other beams and panels," she said patiently. "These pads are designed to accommodate expansion, contraction, and rotation at the bearing area, preventing spalling and cracking. The movement, noise, and vibration of traffic is absorbed or transferred by the bearing pads. I think that the bearing pads were loose laid, which means that they weren't fixed into place with something like epoxy, which kind of compounds the problem here, there's nothing structural to prevent them from moving. I can see a weight-bearing structure right above you, which looks like it's kept us from being crushed. We should be ok unless it moves. I don't know anything about demolition, which seems like a massive oversight in hindsight." Her brows came together. "How likely is that, do you think?" Her voice sounded forlorn. "But I think you could climb out."

"We should be ok for now," he said. He could hear car alarms outside, and there was another tremor, but not from the garage although rubble fell again. Ava made a funny sound. He checked his pocket and found his phone. "Shit," he cursed. The screen was cracked and he couldn't get it to turn on. "Ava, do you have your bag?" He could see her look around.

"Yes, I can see it. But I can't reach it." Her voice wobbled. "My phone's in it." He looked around and found a route down that shouldn't destabilize anything. He deftly climbed down, ignoring his pain with the ease of practice, landing on his toes, and stood a moment to make sure that his weight wouldn't cause the slab to shift. Then he ducked under and surveyed the situation.

"Damn it, Ava, I asked if you were ok," he said, stress making him snap.

"I said I was pinned," she snapped back, and her eyes finally filled. She'd been impaled through the leg on a piece of rebar. "My bag's over there." She pointed, and his words died in his throat as he saw an arm sticking out between two heavy pieces of concrete. It was wearing a brown leather sleeve with striped cuffs. Ben had been wearing that jacket. Just beyond the arm was Ava's bag. He carefully moved forward enough to snag the strap, and retreated back, sitting carefully between Ava and Ben's arm.

"Do you mind?" he asked, and Ava shook her head. He rooted carefully and found her phone. The screen was also cracked, but it was still functional. He dialed Steve.

"Buck? Are you ok?" Steve's familiar voice said. "There have been a couple of bombings. All in Midtown."

"I'm fine," he said. "But we're in a parking garage, of all places, that was blown up. Who the hell does that? Ava's with me, she's stuck on a piece of rebar. We need help. Where are you?" He gave the cross streets.

"I can be there in about five, ten minutes," Steve finally said. "Is there anybody else you can hear?"

"The coworker we were with didn't make it," Bucky said flatly. "I haven't heard anybody else." He hadn't heard any cars and hadn't seen any movement before the explosions; it was mid afternoon, not a high-traffic time even for the holidays, and there had been a sign at the entrance that had said there were no spaces available. He could hear Steve puff a little, and jogging sounds, apologies to other pedestrians, and despite his situation, he couldn't help a little grin. Then he responded in more detail to Steve's questions, discussing the situation like a busted op. Steve hung up, and Bucky returned his attention to Ava. He could hear sirens faintly. "Stevie's coming to help, doll," he said, moving closer. "We'll get you out." He looked at the rebar; it was extending a couple inches out of her leg. It had impaled her thigh, on the outside of the bone, fortunately. There was some blood, but not much, and he recognized that Ava was going into shock. He shrugged his coat off and covered her with it.

"It's cold, Bucky, you need to stay warm. We could be here awhile."

"You need it more than I do, sweetheart," he said, scooting closer and picking up one of her hands. "I run warm anyway. Serum. And you're looking shocky." She was clammy, pale, and her pulse and breathing were elevated. "Lift your head and move your arm," he directed, and slid his ankle under when she did, giving her head, neck and shoulders some support from the strain. The way she was laying, her head was propped up only with her wrist, and it looked really uncomfortable, not that an ankle would be inherently nicer. It was just about the height of the support. The slope of the concrete prevented him from sitting up and getting closer, and he wanted to be able to move quickly. He could also block her view of what was left of Ben by sitting up like this.

It seemed like forever but was seven minutes before the phone rang. Steve was there. "I got bad news, Buck," he said without preamble. "The other bombing targets are getting the attention because there are a lot of people trapped. They'll get here eventually, but it's a matter of resource allocation, which is still not up to pre-Snap levels. Sitrep." Bucky described approximately how far they'd been from the exit and an estimate of how far down they were, the structural information Ava had given him, and that Ava's leg was pierced by the metal.

"Looks like a piece of concrete split and twisted some; you can see rebar at intervals, but only two pieces have exposed ends and she fell on the first one. It's perforated the back of her right thigh just above the knee, through the hamstrings. I don't think that it's perforated the artery; she's moved some and there's bleeding but not like you'd expect if that had occurred. There are still other larger blood vessels though. Otherwise she looks ok, shock is setting in. We need to get her out."

"Buck? Ava?" Steve's voice was much louder and clearer as he raised his voice.

"You sound like you're on my right side, about two o'clock."

"Ok, that's helpful." There was a little shifting, some pebbles fell. "Buck, can you move to a place where you can look up and see if you can see me?" He gently reclaimed his ankle and scooted over to the side where he could see up. A small chunk of concrete promptly fell dead center on his forehead. Ow.

"I can see your shadow," Bucky said. There was a pause, more careful movement. "Ah, now I can see your foot." Steve leaned over, and they grinned at each other, relieved at the sight. After discussing the way that the concrete had fallen, Bucky slithered out to see if it would be possible to climb out. There was a way, but it wouldn't be easy, it wasn't straightforward enough to use a rope. He dropped down to talk to Ava.

"You go on, Bucky. I can wait for the emergency people," she said instantly. "I haven't climbed anything, really, since the jungle gym in elementary school. There's no point in both of us staying here."

"I'm not leaving without you, doll," he said tranquilly. "I think we can get you out, but it's going to hurt."

"Hurts now," she pointed out. "It would be better to get out before anything worse happens. I really don't want to be here if anything shifts in a big way. What's the idea?"

"I don't think that the rebar got a big blood vessel. So the plan would be to lift you off the metal, bandage your leg, and I can boost you from behind while Steve helps you from above. We're only down about ten feet, amazingly. Once we get clear, we can get you to a hospital. That new one, St Lukes, is a couple blocks away." She thought about this.

"How are you doing, Bucky?"

"Like I've been bounced around in a cave-in, doll, but it's nothing that the serum isn't helping. I'm in a lot better condition than you are."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"Not about something like this, Ava." They looked at each other steadily. "If I did, I could drop you and make our situation much worse. I wouldn't risk that."

"Ok," she said after a moment. "But I have an addition to the plan." He cocked his head. "In my bag is a tourniquet. I took bystander aid training a couple of years ago; it was designed so that bystanders of a mass shooting could help people immediately. It saves lives if people who are shot don't have to wait minutes for EMTs." He nodded. "So just in case, I bought a tourniquet and I keep it in my bag. Haven't had to use it. But you're not positive that a big blood vessel hasn't been torn, and in any case it is still going to bleed. This should help."

"Sure will, doll. But it's going to hurt a lot."

"Yeah, they went into that in the training... But I'd really like to get out of here."

"Ok, Ava. That should be better. Hang on." He scooted back over and reported to Steve. Steve looked doubtful but agreed that this was the best plan. Bucky scooted back and rooted around in Ava's bag for the tourniquet, a black strap with no give, a plastic bar to tighten it, and instructions wrapped around it. He took a moment to refresh his memory, then wrapped the strap firmly around Ava's thigh, just above the puncture, and began tightening. "You ok?" he asked, knowing that she wasn't. She was crying, silently, but nodded. He noted the time that he'd applied the tourniquet; they had a couple of hours before it started to cause problems.

"It hurts, is all," she said. He held her hand again, and she squeezed hard, doing her best to stay still. It was about four minutes before she said she was ready to pull her leg off.

"Let me do it," Bucky requested. "I can draw it off straight, less damage." She nodded and braced herself. Bucky blew out a breath, put on his coat, looked at the way she was laying and the angle of the rebar once more, then swiftly and smoothly pulled her free. She let out a short scream, and there was a gush of blood. He rechecked the tourniquet as she cried in earnest and was able to tighten it a little more, which slowed the blood. Some blood loss was inevitable from the injury before the tourniquet had been applied. Her scarf was thinner than his; he ripped his to make absorbent pads that he placed over her entrance and exit wounds, then tied them to her leg with her scarf. It made a good knot and would help keep debris out of the wound. He wanted to wait a couple of minutes to give her time to recover, but the concrete tipped a little as the pile settled again, and it was time to move. He helped her to the place where she could stand, and she pulled herself up.

It was a slow and painful process; his ribs were killing him, and her leg was a real hindrance. Her condition made her weak. He boosted her up a little ways, she pulled herself up using her good leg and arms, he climbed up, rinse and repeat, sometimes having to take a break, until about four feet from the surface, there was enough room for Steve to go down and he pulled her up, then gave Bucky a hand. It had taken more than forty minutes for them to climb about twelve feet. Once they were both out of the hole, Steve picked up Ava and made his way to the street, free from the rubble. Bucky followed, starting to feel every bruise and cut as his adrenaline wore off. There were people looking and pointing, taking pictures, but no emergency vehicles. It was going to be a long couple of blocks; Ava didn't weigh a lot, but she didn't weigh just a little, either. Well, maybe farther away they could get a cab; there was too much debris on the street for a cab to make it through. She was shaking, tears were running down her face but she didn't seem to notice.

They had reached the corner and Steve was debating about putting Ava into a fireman's carry--the location of her injury meant that it would probably be painful no matter what, but otherwise it would take a long time to carry her close to his chest--when sirens indicated a rapid approach to their position. "You can put me down," Ava suggested, and he carefully set her on her feet. His back was aching.

Five minutes later, they were in a patrol car, headed for the hospital. Bucky had brought up her bag, so she even had her insurance card and a debit card for the co-pay. While Bucky was being checked out and patched up too--three cracked ribs, torn rib cartilage, bruised kidney, deep bruising, superficial damage-- Steve told the police officer what he knew. Then the officer interviewed Bucky when he was released; Bucky made sure to tell him about Ben and gave him a business card for the office, in order to get emergency contact information. Ava had to have surgery to fix her leg and would be kept at least overnight. Bucky was beat, and he and Steve took a cab home. Steve ordered pizza--a large one for each of them, but with different toppings so that they could mix and match--and sent Bucky to bed.

It was too early to sleep, though, it was just past six. So Bucky took a nice long bath, grateful that he had one of the clawfoot tubs that Steve had used in some of the bathrooms. The choices had been tub with a shower head, separate tub and shower, and shower only. Bucky had requested the separate tub and shower; the shower was glassed in and he didn't like shower curtains. He steamed gently in the hot water for an hour; this was interrupted when his cat slipped off the curved rim and fell in the water. She was furious, but the scratches she inflicted healed fairly quickly; his healing factor was getting a real workout today. He got out after that, hunted up Natasha and patted her with a towel to absorb most of the water. Then she ran away from him and started to lick her fur. He sighed, but at least she'd be well hydrated at the end of it. He boosted the heat in the apartment and put his pajamas on, burrowing into bed. Even as tired as he was, it took him awhile to sleep. And he had nightmares.

He woke up early the next day, a little stiff and sore still. The rib cartilage that had torn was mostly mended, but the cracked ribs still hurt. There wasn't any blood in his urine this morning, a signal that the bruised kidneys were healed, and he was grateful for the serum. He usually wasn't. He stretched thoroughly, fed Natasha--she had mostly forgiven him--and got ready for work, stopping for coffee and a croissant before heading to the hospital. At the hospital, he said that he was Ava's boyfriend, which got him admittance to her room. Her breakfast was just being brought in. It looked... kind of gross. There was oatmeal, which she picked at unenthusiastically. "When are you getting discharged?" he asked. "I can bring you home."

"You don't have to, you'll be at work," she said, and the nurse who was updating her chart smiled at her.

"You really should be watched after you're released. Your leg is going to be painful and healing will be tiring," she said, and winked at Bucky. "Honey, if this was my boyfriend--" Ava blushed.

"Thanks, Bucky," she said.

"Come back after one," the nurse said, and left. Bucky waited a moment and after the door closed, gave her the mocha and croissant. Ava brightened and split the croissant with him. And the mocha, although he'd already drank his. The extra caffeine wouldn't hurt, he felt, and she said she was a little queasy from the drugs she'd been given. He said he'd bring a bag for her, her clothes being a total loss, and she gave him her keys.

He left reluctantly and went to work, where he updated Nelson about what had happened and Ava's condition. Ben's wife had been informed of his death by the police, and there was a collection being taken up for flowers for the funeral; he contributed a hundred for both himself and for Ava. He knew she'd want to get in on that but the funeral would likely be soon, closed casket, and she might not be sufficiently mobile. The news had said that nobody had claimed responsibility, but it was being posited that the collapsed garage was meant to take out a subway line but the bombers had messed up; the garage that was over a subway was two blocks down. A company email had gone out about the incident, and Nelson sent him home, saying that both he and Ava were off work until after Christmas.


	20. I fall to pieces

Bucky was pining.

He'd screwed things up miserably with Ava, and there seemed no chance of another opportunity. It was sometimes hard to work with her, but he retreated to the impassive face he'd had such a long time to perfect during his time as the New Fist of Hydra™ so as not to make things difficult. This close to the holiday, people were taking time off--days or just a few hours here and there, and it made scheduling meetings more difficult. Fortunately, this seemed to be the situation everywhere, and nobody fussed much about it, even the clients. And while he was getting put on more projects with the other managers, the week before Christmas, he was placed on the team forming around Ava for a new hotel in Midtown. Because this project was starting from the recently cleared site, there was much to do and they would be working closely together. Yay. A small team of them met on the construction site, lumpy from having the previous building knocked down and removed. The architects, the construction manager, Nelson, Ava, Ben, and Bucky discussed the project and immediately found an issue; the surveyors might have made a slight error and the architects needed to make sure their work was correct to make sure the building would fit on the lot as planned, if the surveyors were correct. They'd get another company to re-survey the site. It was freezing, even through winter coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, snow falling, so the meeting hit the highlights and the group adjourned as quickly as possible. The architects, construction manager, and Nelson flitted off; Ava, Ben, and Bucky had work to do back at the office and cut through the public parking garage next to the site. The client was negotiating to buy it and put up a taller one in its place to service the hotel and surrounding businesses for a price; it was only four stories above ground, a real waste of space. It had been meant for more; there were two subterranean levels and it had been planned for eight above ground, but the money had run out during construction.

They weren't talking much, being cold, and anxious to get to the subway, which was warmer. Bucky was a few steps behind, having accidentally dropped his phone, which had bounced under a fender.

As accustomed as he was to things going in the crapper in a hurry, Bucky was still surprised at what seemed like a simultaneous quaking and booming sound. Even as he fell, he recognized the use of explosives and cursed; he'd smelled the motor-oil odor of C-4 but dismissed it because they were in a garage. Also, he fumed that this was a dick move. He was retired.

The wind was driven out of him by his landing on his front, and he was being severely compressed by debris, making ribs crack. He squirmed free in desperation and slid several feet on the tilted cracked concrete before falling off and dropping down a couple of extra yards. He wheezed his lungs full of air again, sounding like PreSerum!Steve during a bad chest cold, and coughed from all the dust in the air. "Ava! Ben!" But the garage was still falling apart--Jesus, how much C-4 had been used? This was really overkill--and he couldn't hear anything, even with his enhanced hearing. He waited until movement was reduced to trickles of small diameter debris and tried again.

He heard a cough.

"Ava! Ben! Anybody?"

More coughing. "Bucky?"

A female voice. Ava. He closed his eyes, both in relief and to keep dirt from falling in them.

"Ava! Are you all right? Can you move your fingers and toes?"

"Yes, I can move my hands and feet," she said after a moment. "But I'm pinned here. Ben... is no longer with us. Are you ok, Bucky?" She sounded near tears, and this kicked his brain in gear. He was bruised and battered, his right kidney had been smacked by a chunk of concrete, in addition to the ribs, but these would heal. Importantly, he could move, and carefully inched toward the edge of his piece of garage closest to where her voice sounded. This slab was stable, at least right now.

"I've been worse," he said so she would know he was still there, and slowly poked his head over the edge.

"I can see you!" she said, sounding thrilled about it for the first time in a long time.

"I see you too, doll," he said, relieved down to his bones. He could see her head and shoulders. She was lying on her side. He scanned things below her. The layers seemed to be pretty much wedged into place, but that could still change. "Ava, what can you see above us? Does it look like it's going to collapse?" She studied the wreckage, and he ducked out of the way for a moment.

"Ok, Bucky," she called, and he poked his head back over to look at her. "Ok, this looks like a precast concrete parking garage." He looked at her blankly. "This means that a bearing pad is installed beneath the end of each double-t beam stem and under the other beams and panels," she said patiently. "These pads are designed to accommodate expansion, contraction, and rotation at the bearing area, preventing spalling and cracking. The movement, noise, and vibration of traffic is absorbed or transferred by the bearing pads. I think that the bearing pads were loose laid, which means that they weren't fixed into place with something like epoxy, which kind of compounds the problem here, there's nothing structural to prevent them from moving. I can see a weight-bearing structure right above you, which looks like it's kept us from being crushed. We should be ok unless it moves. I don't know anything about demolition, which seems like a massive oversight in hindsight." Her brows came together. "How likely is that, do you think?" Her voice sounded forlorn. "But I think you could climb out."

"We should be ok for now," he said. He could hear car alarms outside, and there was another tremor, but not from the garage although rubble fell again. Ava made a funny sound. He checked his pocket and found his phone. "Shit," he cursed. The screen was cracked and he couldn't get it to turn on. "Ava, do you have your bag?" He could see her look around.

"Yes, I can see it. But I can't reach it." Her voice wobbled. "My phone's in it." He looked around and found a route down that shouldn't destabilize anything. He deftly climbed down, ignoring his pain with the ease of practice, landing on his toes, and stood a moment to make sure that his weight wouldn't cause the slab to shift. Then he ducked under and surveyed the situation.

"Damn it, Ava, I asked if you were ok," he said, stress making him snap.

"I said I was pinned," she snapped back, and her eyes finally filled. She'd been impaled through the leg on a piece of rebar. "My bag's over there." She pointed, and his words died in his throat as he saw an arm sticking out between two heavy pieces of concrete. It was wearing a brown leather sleeve with striped cuffs. Ben had been wearing that jacket. Just beyond the arm was Ava's bag. He carefully moved forward enough to snag the strap, and retreated back, sitting carefully between Ava and Ben's arm.

"Do you mind?" he asked, and Ava shook her head. He rooted carefully and found her phone. The screen was also cracked, but it was still functional. He dialed Steve.

"Buck? Are you ok?" Steve's familiar voice said. "There have been a couple of bombings. All in Midtown."

"I'm fine," he said. "But we're in a parking garage, of all places, that was blown up. Who the hell does that? Ava's with me, she's stuck on a piece of rebar. We need help. Where are you?" He gave the cross streets.

"I can be there in about five, ten minutes," Steve finally said. "Is there anybody else you can hear?"

"The coworker we were with didn't make it," Bucky said flatly. "I haven't heard anybody else." He hadn't heard any cars and hadn't seen any movement before the explosions; it was mid afternoon, not a high-traffic time even for the holidays, and there had been a sign at the entrance that had said there were no spaces available. He could hear Steve puff a little, and jogging sounds, apologies to other pedestrians, and despite his situation, he couldn't help a little grin. Then he responded in more detail to Steve's questions, discussing the situation like a busted op. Steve hung up, and Bucky returned his attention to Ava. He could hear sirens faintly. "Stevie's coming to help, doll," he said, moving closer. "We'll get you out." He looked at the rebar; it was extending a couple inches out of her leg. It had impaled her thigh, on the outside of the bone, fortunately. There was some blood, but not much, and he recognized that Ava was going into shock. He shrugged his coat off and covered her with it.

"It's cold, Bucky, you need to stay warm. We could be here awhile."

"You need it more than I do, sweetheart," he said, scooting closer and picking up one of her hands. "I run warm anyway. Serum. And you're looking shocky." She was clammy, pale, and her pulse and breathing were elevated. "Lift your head and move your arm," he directed, and slid his ankle under when she did, giving her head, neck and shoulders some support from the strain. The way she was laying, her head was propped up only with her wrist, and it looked really uncomfortable, not that an ankle would be inherently nicer. It was just about the height of the support. The slope of the concrete prevented him from sitting up and getting closer, and he wanted to be able to move quickly. He could also block her view of what was left of Ben by sitting up like this.

It seemed like forever but was seven minutes before the phone rang. Steve was there. "I got bad news, Buck," he said without preamble. "The other bombing targets are getting the attention because there are a lot of people trapped. They'll get here eventually, but it's a matter of resource allocation, which is still not up to pre-Snap levels. Sitrep." Bucky described approximately how far they'd been from the exit and an estimate of how far down they were, the structural information Ava had given him, and that Ava's leg was pierced by the metal.

"Looks like a piece of concrete split and twisted some; you can see rebar at intervals, but only two pieces have exposed ends and she fell on the first one. It's perforated the back of her right thigh just above the knee, through the hamstrings. I don't think that it's perforated the artery; she's moved some and there's bleeding but not like you'd expect if that had occurred. There are still other larger blood vessels though. Otherwise she looks ok, shock is setting in. We need to get her out."

"Buck? Ava?" Steve's voice was much louder and clearer as he raised his voice.

"You sound like you're on my right side, about two o'clock."

"Ok, that's helpful." There was a little shifting, some pebbles fell. "Buck, can you move to a place where you can look up and see if you can see me?" He gently reclaimed his ankle and scooted over to the side where he could see up. A small chunk of concrete promptly fell dead center on his forehead. Ow.

"I can see your shadow," Bucky said. There was a pause, more careful movement. "Ah, now I can see your foot." Steve leaned over, and they grinned at each other, relieved at the sight. After discussing the way that the concrete had fallen, Bucky slithered out to see if it would be possible to climb out. There was a way, but it wouldn't be easy, it wasn't straightforward enough to use a rope. He dropped down to talk to Ava.

"You go on, Bucky. I can wait for the emergency people," she said instantly. "I haven't climbed anything, really, since the jungle gym in elementary school. There's no point in both of us staying here."

"I'm not leaving without you, doll," he said tranquilly. "I think we can get you out, but it's going to hurt."

"Hurts now," she pointed out. "It would be better to get out before anything worse happens. I really don't want to be here if anything shifts in a big way. What's the idea?"

"I don't think that the rebar got a big blood vessel. So the plan would be to lift you off the metal, bandage your leg, and I can boost you from behind while Steve helps you from above. We're only down about ten feet, amazingly. Once we get clear, we can get you to a hospital. That new one, St Lukes, is a couple blocks away." She thought about this.

"How are you doing, Bucky?"

"Like I've been bounced around in a cave-in, doll, but it's nothing that the serum isn't helping. I'm in a lot better condition than you are."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"Not about something like this, Ava." They looked at each other steadily. "If I did, I could drop you and make our situation much worse. I wouldn't risk that."

"Ok," she said after a moment. "But I have an addition to the plan." He cocked his head. "In my bag is a tourniquet. I took bystander aid training a couple of years ago; it was designed so that bystanders of a mass shooting could help people immediately. It saves lives if people who are shot don't have to wait minutes for EMTs." He nodded. "So just in case, I bought a tourniquet and I keep it in my bag. Haven't had to use it. But you're not positive that a big blood vessel hasn't been torn, and in any case it is still going to bleed. This should help."

"Sure will, doll. But it's going to hurt a lot."

"Yeah, they went into that in the training... But I'd really like to get out of here."

"Ok, Ava. That should be better. Hang on." He scooted back over and reported to Steve. Steve looked doubtful but agreed that this was the best plan. Bucky scooted back and rooted around in Ava's bag for the tourniquet, a black strap with no give, a plastic bar to tighten it, and instructions wrapped around it. He took a moment to refresh his memory, then wrapped the strap firmly around Ava's thigh, just above the puncture, and began tightening. "You ok?" he asked, knowing that she wasn't. She was crying, silently, but nodded. He noted the time that he'd applied the tourniquet; they had a couple of hours before it started to cause problems.

"It hurts, is all," she said. He held her hand again, and she squeezed hard, doing her best to stay still. It was about four minutes before she said she was ready to pull her leg off.

"Let me do it," Bucky requested. "I can draw it off straight, less damage." She nodded and braced herself. Bucky blew out a breath, put on his coat, looked at the way she was laying and the angle of the rebar once more, then swiftly and smoothly pulled her free. She let out a short scream, and there was a gush of blood. He rechecked the tourniquet as she cried in earnest and was able to tighten it a little more, which slowed the blood. Some blood loss was inevitable from the injury before the tourniquet had been applied. Her scarf was thinner than his; he ripped his to make absorbent pads that he placed over her entrance and exit wounds, then tied them to her leg with her scarf. It made a good knot and would help keep debris out of the wound. He wanted to wait a couple of minutes to give her time to recover, but the concrete tipped a little as the pile settled again, and it was time to move. He helped her to the place where she could stand, and she pulled herself up.

It was a slow and painful process; his ribs were killing him, and her leg was a real hindrance. Her condition made her weak. He boosted her up a little ways, she pulled herself up using her good leg and arms, he climbed up, rinse and repeat, sometimes having to take a break, until about four feet from the surface, there was enough room for Steve to go down and he pulled her up, then gave Bucky a hand. It had taken more than forty minutes for them to climb about twelve feet. Once they were both out of the hole, Steve picked up Ava and made his way to the street, free from the rubble. Bucky followed, starting to feel every bruise and cut as his adrenaline wore off. There were people looking and pointing, taking pictures, but no emergency vehicles. It was going to be a long couple of blocks; Ava didn't weigh a lot, but she didn't weigh just a little, either. Well, maybe farther away they could get a cab; there was too much debris on the street for a cab to make it through. She was shaking, tears were running down her face but she didn't seem to notice.

They had reached the corner and Steve was debating about putting Ava into a fireman's carry--the location of her injury meant that it would probably be painful no matter what, but otherwise it would take a long time to carry her close to his chest--when sirens indicated a rapid approach to their position. "You can put me down," Ava suggested, and he carefully set her on her feet. His back was aching.

Five minutes later, they were in a patrol car, headed for the hospital. Bucky had brought up her bag, so she even had her insurance card and a debit card for the co-pay. While Bucky was being checked out and patched up too--three cracked ribs, torn rib cartilage, bruised kidney, deep bruising, superficial damage-- Steve told the police officer what he knew. Then the officer interviewed Bucky when he was released; Bucky made sure to tell him about Ben and gave him a business card for the office, in order to get emergency contact information. Ava had to have surgery to fix her leg and would be kept at least overnight. Bucky was beat, and he and Steve took a cab home. Steve ordered pizza--a large one for each of them, but with different toppings so that they could mix and match--and sent Bucky to bed.

It was too early to sleep, though, it was just past six. So Bucky took a nice long bath, grateful that he had one of the clawfoot tubs that Steve had used in some of the bathrooms. The choices had been tub with a shower head, separate tub and shower, and shower only. Bucky had requested the separate tub and shower; the shower was glassed in and he didn't like shower curtains. He steamed gently in the hot water for an hour; this was interrupted when his cat slipped off the curved rim and fell in the water. She was furious, but the scratches she inflicted healed fairly quickly; his healing factor was getting a real workout today. He got out after that, hunted up Natasha and patted her with a towel to absorb most of the water. Then she ran away from him and started to lick her fur. He sighed, but at least she'd be well hydrated at the end of it. He boosted the heat in the apartment and put his pajamas on, burrowing into bed. Even as tired as he was, it took him awhile to sleep. And he had nightmares.

He woke up early the next day, a little stiff and sore still. The rib cartilage that had torn was mostly mended, but the cracked ribs still hurt. There wasn't any blood in his urine this morning, a signal that the bruised kidneys were healed, and he was grateful for the serum. He usually wasn't. He stretched thoroughly, fed Natasha--she had mostly forgiven him--and got ready for work, stopping for coffee and a croissant before heading to the hospital. At the hospital, he said that he was Ava's boyfriend, which got him admittance to her room. Her breakfast was just being brought in. It looked... kind of gross. There was oatmeal, which she picked at unenthusiastically. "When are you getting discharged?" he asked. "I can bring you home."

"You don't have to, you'll be at work," she said, and the nurse who was updating her chart smiled at her.

"You really should be watched after you're released. Your leg is going to be painful and healing will be tiring," she said, and winked at Bucky. "Honey, if this was my boyfriend--" Ava blushed.

"Thanks, Bucky," she said.

"Come back after one," the nurse said, and left. Bucky waited a moment and after the door closed, gave her the mocha and croissant. Ava brightened and split the croissant with him. And the mocha, although he'd already drank his. The extra caffeine wouldn't hurt, he felt, and she said she was a little queasy from the drugs she'd been given. He said he'd bring a bag for her, her clothes being a total loss, and she gave him her keys.

He left reluctantly and went to work, where he updated Nelson about what had happened and Ava's condition. Ben's wife had been informed of his death by the police, and there was a collection being taken up for flowers for the funeral; he contributed a hundred for both himself and for Ava. He knew she'd want to get in on that but the funeral would likely be soon, closed casket, and she might not be sufficiently mobile. The news had said that nobody had claimed responsibility, but it was being posited that the collapsed garage was meant to take out a subway line but the bombers had messed up; the garage that was over a subway was two blocks down. A company email had gone out about the incident, and Nelson sent him home, saying that both he and Ava were off work until after Christmas.


	21. How much you want to risk?

Bucky went home and to Ava's apartment so that he could bring her a fresh set of clothes. He peeked into the bathroom; it was small, with only the shower stall, but at least she wouldn't have to try to get in and out of the big tubs that had been used. He couldn't think of anything else he could do, so he ran errands, including replacing his phone, until it was time to go pick her up. She still looked tired, but signed herself out and took the mass of aftercare instructions without complaint. The nurse rolled her wheelchair down to the cab; Bucky carried the crutches. Ava nodded off on the ride home, listing gently to the side until her head was on Bucky's flesh shoulder and drooling slightly. She was embarrassed when they pulled up in front of the building; he shouldn't have been charmed but he was a little, it meant a lot to him that he was trusted enough to sleep around. Bucky paid the cabbie and carried Ava's bag and the plastic bag from the hospital with what was salvageable from the previous day--her underwear, socks, and shoes, mainly. Her clothes, including her coat, had been torn and bloodstained. Ava extracted herself from the cab with Bucky's help and crutched awkwardly to the door; the fatigue and painkillers were making her clumsy. Bucky walked slightly behind so that he could grab her if she fell, moving quickly to open and hold the door and calling the elevator.

Ava was losing power when they reached her floor and Bucky asked and received permission to pick her up. It strained her leg a bit, which was painful, and his ribs, which also hurt, but was faster and required less exertion on her part to reach her apartment. He set her down gently and helped with her shoes and coat. "What do you need, doll?"

"I'm hungry and filthy," she said after a moment.

"I have a few meal replacement shakes for snacks," he said. "They're not too bad. You could have one to help with your strength but not fill your stomach up too much in case you get nauseated, then... you could wrap your leg in plastic wrap and take a shower, then take a nap." She looked thoughtful.

"That sounds pretty good," she said. "I'm so tired. The surgery wasn't bad, they told me, mostly cleaning the wounds and sewing things up. Got a tetanus booster. But the nurses kept waking me up. And I'm stiff and sore from falling during the explosion." She snorted. "Listen to me whine. I'm lucky to be here."

"I'm just glad it wasn't worse, Ava," he said quietly, then left to bring a couple of the chilled plastic bottles for her. He sat patiently while she sipped, then brought over her bathrobe--a new one, a soft and fluffy plum fleece--and turned around while she got undressed and put the robe on. In the bathroom, she sat on the toilet lid while he moved the shower head so it would hit at a good angle when she sat on the built-in little bench, turning on the water so it would warm up. She quickly wrapped some plastic wrap over the bandages, then leaned on him as she hopped the few steps to the door. He turned around again, staying until she said she was set, then exited the bathroom to stand by the door, ready to help when she called. He used her shower time to text Steve, letting him know she was home, tired but ok, and turned down her bed, plumping her pillows a bit. Her nightgown was stashed under her pillow. She had an electric blanket, which he turned on to warm up. He heard the hairdryer, and shortly afterward, she opened the door. The small exertions had tired her out again, but she said she felt better for the beverage. Her leg was aching something fierce and it was time for her medications. Rather than straining her leg by carrying her around bridal style or in a fireman's carry, he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifted, and carried her that way to her bed. He turned around again and stayed there until she said she was set.

"My medicines are in the bag," she said wearily, and he retrieved the whole bag, fishing out the orange plastic vials and placing the bag on the floor where she could get to it easily, going to get her a glass of water. "Thanks, Bucky. I really appreciate it."

"It's not a problem," he assured her. "We've been given time off until after Christmas."

"Oh, that's good news," she said.

"I'm going to be making some chicken noodle soup," he said. "Would you like some, later?"

"That sounds fantastic," she said, her eyelids drooping. "I think you put the keys by the door." He checked and put her phone on the charger by her bed.

"Call if you need anything," he said, then turned down the heat by habit. She liked sleeping under a pile of blankets in a cold room, and Steve had installed thermostats programmable with a phone app. He'd have also cracked the window for her, but that would mean she'd have to get up to close it. This was going to be his first attempt at making chicken soup from scratch. He had bought two chickens, so that if the first try failed, he had a back up. And as a Plan C, there was a deli on the way home; Steve could stop by since he had a late studio today if absolutely necessary. Bucky'd consulted Julia Child's classic, a Martha Stewart cookbook, and the Joy of Cooking, and felt like he could do it, though. He followed instructions for making the chicken stock carefully, and sat down to be attentive while it simmered. He had library books to read and a cat to pet, and his Happy playlist had been started at the beginning, so he was good for hours. He texted his friends off and on, and an office email came through just before he was ready to strain the stock and make the soup; Ben's funeral would be on the 23rd, for those who could attend. Management said that anyone in the office could go on company time, but those out on site visits or in meetings during that time needed to attend to business. Later he'd check to see if Ava wanted to go.

The soup tasted good, he thought; not overly rich but flavorful. There was a knock on the door; Steve.

"Smells good," he said hopefully.

"I made it for Ava, but you could have some," he said, inviting his friend in.

"Great," Steve said happily, holding up a bag. "I stopped by the bakery and got rolls. I was going to have them for dinner, don't mind sharing." Bucky ladled out a bowl for each of them, and Steve was impressed. Bucky couldn't help preening a bit; it had carrots and celery for some nutrition, good egg noodles, and a generous amount of chicken. The rolls were tasty, and they got each other caught up. Bucky divided the rest up into a few smaller containers and left them out to cool a bit, and Steve contributed the rest of the rolls for Ava. He'd eat more later; a bowl of soup wasn't enough to fill up either man for a meal, but it was a really good starter.

Ava called before the soup was cool enough to be refrigerated, sounding groggy, and Steve accompanied Bucky, helping to carry the soup. Bucky tapped on the door before unlocking it, and Steve stayed on the threshold, waving, before Ava invited him in too. She was waking up, and although she still looked tired, she looked better than when Bucky'd picked her up at the hospital. She thanked them both for the soup and rolls, and Steve asked if there was anything he could do for her. Bucky placed some of the containers in the fridge and heated another in the microwave.

"I was going to come up later," she said, smiling a little. "My sister is coming for Christmas, when I told her about my leg she arranged to come early. I was wondering if I could borrow a spare key for her to use while she's visiting."

"Oh, that's nice that she's able to help," Steve said. "It's no trouble. Your sister is a doctor, right?"

"Yeah, she works at a hospital now but I think she prefers public health and epidemiology. When she was working for Doctors without Borders, she did her fair share of working one on one with patients, but she was especially good at mapping outbreaks of disease and talking to community leaders about simple ways to help keep the population healthy. They used to send her out on little tours, talking about ways to safeguard the water supplies, handle contagious diseases. But it'll be nice to have a professional on hand to deal with my little puncture wound."

"Buck's been my brother since grade school, I miss him when he's not around," Steve said. "It must be hard for you to be so far apart."

"Well, we're eight years apart. I idolized her when I was a kid, used to follow her around a lot, pesky, which was irritating to her especially as a popular teenager. I try not to be demanding."

"Becky was like that with Bucky," he said, chuckling. "She thought he hung the stars, but pretty much everybody did, he was that popular. We had a hard time breaking free sometimes." Bucky blushed. "Let me go get that key so you'll have it and not need to come up. I remember what it was like to be hurt, before the serum." He strode energetically to the door, closing it behind. Bucky and Ava looked after him.

"Was he always this... bouncy?" Ava asked. "He's exhausting." Bucky chuckled.

"No, that's the serum. When we were kids, the chip on his shoulder weighed him down, then his responsibilities as Cap. Since he's made himself at home in this time, he's gotten downright chipper. I feel like a little old man around him sometimes."

"Well, you kind of are," she pointed out, and he gave in and laughed.

"I'm an inch shorter and one year older, but about thirty pounds lighter. That's what happens when you get the knock-off serum," he said, smiling as he served the soup. "He's just exhausting."

"This is delicious," she said after the first mouthful. "I love the thyme."

"Added it toward the end for a bit of freshness." He enjoyed watching her enjoy the soup he'd made.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," she said.

"I owe you."

"For what?" She looked surprised.

"Thanksgiving dinner, but also, for the way I ended our relationship. I had concerns about how safe it is to be around me, but I had no right to break things off and say that it was for your own good. It was condescending, and I've been a jerk." Her big eyes seemed stuck wide open, making her look like an illustration in the manga that Steve liked so much.

"Wow. That is unexpected." She gathered her wits. "I was not expecting that. But I don't think you owe me anything."

"I think that I do."

"We can call it even, then. You've literally been carrying my carcass around, and this soup is the best apology I've ever gotten." Her eyes started to water.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"The whole garage thing, the Ben thing, my sister's coming, which on the one hand is nice because she's the only family I have left and she's a doctor, she'll be able to tell if anything starts to go wrong like an infection, but I always feel like the little sister screw up around her. You're being so nice and I don't deserve it." She wiped her cheeks irritably, and Bucky whipped out a travel packet of tissues from her stash in the wardrobe.

"It has been a terrible couple of days," he said. "You have every right to feel bad about it. It was scary and awful." He carefully placed his flesh hand over hers. "You're not a screw up, you're brave and loyal and tenacious and compassionate, and you deserve everything good in life. Your sister can't think honestly think that." He started to feel pugnacious about this other woman. His words had the effect of making Ava full on bawl, and he scooted over gingerly to put his arm around her. She buried her face in her hands, then turned to the solid support of Bucky's shoulder, the metal one. The door opened and Steve held up the key, observed the situation, and placed the key on the table before quietly closing the door. Bucky let Ava cry herself out, then moved some hair that was stuck to her cheeks. She was not a pretty crier. "It's good not to repress that," he said, getting up for more tissues, wincing.

"What's wrong, Bucky?"

"Oh, I cracked some ribs in the garage. They're healing fast, though, the serum."

"You've been carrying me around and you're hurt too? My god, you kept lifting me up in the garage." She looked horrified.

"See, this is why I didn't say anything. The pain is negligible and it's an irritation but not more. You're not used to serious injuries, I think you've suffered enough."

"Why are you doing this, Bucky?"

"Because it's something nice that I can do. Because I'm grateful that the bombing isn't something that I caused. Because it makes me feel good to do something for you." He looked at her sternly. "It's not a competition, doll. Both of us have had bad things happen to us, and your trauma is a lot more recent than mine. I am finally at a point in my life where I can be the one to extend a hand to help." Please don't take that away from me.

She always seemed to hear subtext that he didn't vocalize. "It had to have been bad for you too," she said reflectively. "Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to talk about it?"

He did, just not with her. He'd talk about it with Steve, who'd understand the flashbacks, his situation, because he had those shared life experiences. Powering past your body, getting the mission done. And he'd understand how each small act of kindness helped to ease the burden on his soul from the suffering he'd caused, unwillingly, as The Asset. It wasn't because he didn't think she could handle hearing his thoughts and feelings, or that she'd turn away from him; he simply didn't want her to be touched by it.

"You can let me be helpful." His therapist would be proud that he was stating what he needed. She bit her lip.

"You don't have to, you probably have plans, but... do you think you could spend the night?"

"I can do that, doll," he said immediately. "I have to clean up from making the soup, do a couple of things, but yeah." And so it was arranged. He put the rest of the soup in the refrigerator, her bowl in the dishwasher, and walked with her back to her bed, making sure she had water and some books, plumping her pillows and getting her settled before leaving. He was under no illusion that they were getting back together, just acknowledging that another person's presence could be comforting.

First stop was Steve's, where he brought him up to date, then he left the building to run necessary errands, including a new shirt and tie for the funeral. And dress socks. And replaced his phone. He had to do his grocery shopping, and hit the bakery on the way home for cookies, and a florist for some flowers. He chose a winter-themed arrangement, with pine greens, beautiful white flowers, a red bow and jingle bells in a square green glass vase. That would be delivered to Ava the next day. He put everything away, then spent some time playing with Natasha until evening, when she went to curl up on her spot on the sofa. He put down more dry food for her, changed the water in her little fountain, scooped the cat box, and left a nightlight on for her before taking a small bag of his things to Ava's. They sat on the sofa, nibbling the cookies, and watched White Christmas and the cartoon version of How The Grinch Stole Christmas on Netflix, and stayed up longer to talk, catching him up on other important cinematic Christmas touchstones that he'd missed. It was still fairly early when she started to yawn, but it was around ten when they were both ready to sleep. Though Bucky liked to be the big spoon, he made no complaint at being the little spoon, both because his knee wouldn't bump her injury and because this put him between her and anything coming through the door.

The next morning he was pleased to see that she looked much better, and could attest to her having a good sleep since she'd snuggled up to his back like a limpet and stayed put. He made her breakfast and offered to pick her sister up from the airport (Ava didn't like this form of transportation but realized it wasn't her choice to make) but the sister would be coming in a taxi. He took his things back to his apartment and checked once more. She did allow him to pick up her mail although she was doing much better on her crutches. While he was down there, he let in the florist who apparently had a couple of deliveries to make including his, and a woman who just had to be Ava's sister. She had a suitcase, a beautiful leather messenger bag, was older than Ava and with lighter brown hair, but there was a distinct facial similarity.

The woman gave him a sharp look, holding out her hand to him in the elevator. "Marguerite Mignot," she said. "My sister is Ava, she lives here." Bucky shook her hand, sizing her up. Intense, kind of bossy like other doctors he'd met--and like a worried sister--which he liked, but also kind of snooty, an irritation at having to deal with nobodies. His sister had been bossy and sometimes a pain in the butt, but one thing she'd never been was snooty or superior, and he had an understanding why Ava might feel inferior. But she was here, and that counted for a lot.

"Bucky Barnes. I work with Ava, my apartment's a couple floors down." She looked tired, which probably increased the sisters' similarity. "I can show you up--"

"You're her ex, aren't you?" Bucky nodded. "I think I can manage. Thank you."

"You might as well take her mail up, too," he said mildly, passing her the wad of envelopes and catalogs along with the key. "Nice meeting you." He got off on his floor and took the stairs up to Steve's. His finals were over and he said he was going to dedicate the holiday between semesters to goofing off. Bucky smiled, wondering how long that was actually going to last, ribbing him when he said he had his classes for the next semester picked out, had registered, and had ordered the textbooks so he could read ahead. He told Steve that Ava's sister had arrived, and Steve was also glad that she'd been able to come and be a support for her little sister. Bucky kept what Ava had told him about her feelings to himself, treating them like a confidence although she hadn't asked for that.

"Makes me miss Becca," he said.

"And how do you feel about that?" Steve asked absently.

"Well, sad, dumbass," Bucky said, and Steve laughed. "But she'd be happy that I got a second chance even though she's not around to see it. So I thought about going skating at Rockefeller Center. I took Becca skating there once the year after it opened." Steve smiled.

"I remember. You saved for a month and you were her hero, she talked about it for weeks, her friends were jealous. Let's see about reservations so we don't have to wait in line." They purchased a package; tickets for late afternoon followed by dinner and a performance of the Rockettes' Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall. This would require some consideration of their wardrobe choices and Bucky left to flip through his clothes, settling on some black trousers that looked dressy and were wool with a little spandex for comfort and a warm black cashmere turtleneck sweater. That decided and inspired by Steve's relentless work ethic, Bucky went online himself and checked out the classes he'd need to take for his bachelor's degree, ordering some of the textbooks. He had about eight months before work would support him going back, but he could learn before that and the classes would be slightly easier with the background. He could discuss concepts with the other techs as well. He had time to run his Christmas shopping list before it was time to get ready, and Steve met him in the lobby, looking dapper in a dark blue slacks and a chunky marled blue and silver gray sweater.

Neither had skated since before the war, but the serum had enhanced their ability to pick things up quickly, and it wasn't long before they were skating fluidly and proficiently. Forward, at least; backward was still a little problematic. They skated their ninety minutes, then turned in their skates and went to dinner. Delicious food and lots of it, perfect for hungry super ex-soldiers. They were a little early to Radio City, but that was ok; it was lit up with the giant gold Christmas tree on top, and Bucky shook his head. Steve looked at him questioningly.

"Looks mostly like how I remember it when it first opened," he said. "Weird flashback." Steve nodded.

"I remember when it opened during the Depression," he said. "Swanky. Beautiful Art Deco. Never thought I'd get to see the inside of the place." Even if the tickets hadn't have been out of reach, the cost of the clothing that he'd have needed to wear certainly made his wistful dream of attendance for some program far beyond his means. Dress standards had relaxed a lot, for which he wasn't entirely in approval. On one hand, it was nice that people who couldn't afford expensive clothing could go; on the other hand, it's respectful to yourself, the other attendees, and the occasion to dress up, showing the artists that you value the hard work and talent that goes into the performance. Standards aren't always a bad thing. Inside, the lobby and the interior of the theater were still grand and exciting, and the show was a real spectacle, fun for everyone. They had drinks afterward, then headed for home.

The next day, Bucky realized that he both could and wanted to decorate his apartment for the holidays. He went shopping with a list and a game plan, having rented a vehicle for the day. His apartment was still pretty small, so he found a very realistic table-top artificial tree, pre-lit with white lights, and he bought some small glass icicles, fragile jewel-toned glass balls with glitter, and some old-fashioned mercury-glass shaped ornaments, the kind he remembered from his childhood. A small green velvet tree skirt with silver trim. Red velvet ribbons twined in artificial seasonal greenery swags for the tops of his doors. A wreath and hanger for his front door. Then he kind of lost his head. He bought a small electric fireplace, a nice rug to place in front of that, some white candles in the form of trees to place on top of that. Some Christmas dish towels and potholders, and a nice tablecloth and cloth napkins. He even bought some small plates with penguins doing festive things on them. Invitations for a cocktail party for his friends to be held between Christmas and New Years that he thought up on the spot. He could put snacks on the penguin plates. And some velvet throw pillows to match the ornaments for the couch. And his last big purchase was a cat tree for Natasha, tall and thin. It was ivory carpet and sisal-wrapped posts, with a house at the top and a couple of curved platforms underneath for napping.

He took this bounty home, then hit the stores for his gifts, a man possessed. He first bought beautiful wrapping paper and extravagant bows, needing scissors and tape as well. For Sam, he got a gift card to a specialty automotive store for the '64 1/2 classic Mustang he was restoring, a six pack of the shitty beer he liked, and some dark blue tac gloves he could use for Avenging. He was on more uncertain ground with Wanda, but a package at the Shibui Spa and some unique and beautiful silver earrings seemed ok; he knew she liked going to a spa when she had the time. Natalia wasn't difficult--she was smooth and polished on the outside, a perfect porcelain shell, but inside was warm and vulnerable, all the things Black Widow was afraid to show to the world, so he got her an exquisite silk robe, a warm embroidered flannel nightshirt, and fuzzy warm socks. For Thor, a bottle of a wonderful mead and helpful textbooks on Earth governments and histories that should help him fit New Asgard into place; he seemed somewhat adrift, and information on what the UN considered protections for citizens and comparative studies on different forms of government should help. Steve was the easiest. He went to an art supply store. Steve was resisting the 21st century's art innovations, but he bought a digital paper sketch pad as well as a regular one for him to play around with and a water drawing board, where the work faded when the water dried, and a massive box of candies containing old favorites like malted milk balls, peppermint sticks, and root beer barrels, as well as more modern treats from Salty Road taffy, Liddabit caramels, and high-end chocolates. Steve tried to hide the fact that he had an enormous sweet tooth because of the children who looked up to him. Smaller presents for more casual friends. The one he was stuck on was Ava. There were a lot of practical things that he could have gotten her that she'd like, but he wanted something impractical. But something that wouldn't make her feel pressured. He sighed. He ended up with a gift card for therapeutic massages to help her recover from the bombing and a box of high-end chocolates that cost more than the massages. Because he would deliver the gift before Christmas, he also bought a different box of candies for the rather inappropriately named Marguerite; she was one of the least daisy-like women he'd ever met. There was no need to be rude to her, though, especially since she'd come to help her sister.


	22. And that's how it works

Although he was tired, he was on a roll, and Bucky set up the cat tree, rubbing some catnip on it to lure Nat the Cat onto it, clearing wall space for the new fireplace, arranging the little rug in front and turning it on. Natasha abandoned the cat tree for the fireplace and plopped down in front of it, forcing Bucky to go around her as he happily decorated. He needed more hands, though, and summoned Steve down.

Steve laughed when he saw everything. Garlands hung around his friend's neck and Christmas music played from a speaker. There was packaging everywhere and Bucky had done a little for each project except the presents, cannily stashed in his bedroom. The serenity came from the cat, laying on her side and ignoring everything but the warmth. He entered into the spirit, and the two old friends got the garlands over the door and decorated the tree together, twisting the ornament hangers around the ornaments and the tree branches tightly so that a curious paw wouldn't denude the tree. Or break the ornaments; Bucky hadn't thought about his cat and broken glass when he bought them. The tree was placed on an end table that Natasha had no interest in, draped with the tree skirt, and they lit the candles in pretty glass holders on the mantle of the fireplace. They were pine scented, clear and strong, and both men liked them. Steve helped Bucky clean up and take the trash out. Bucky asked about Steve's availability for his cocktail party, and while Steve went upstairs for some eggnog, Bucky started filling out the invitations, consulting his old-fashioned address book after stamping the envelopes. He went online and ordered hors d'oeuvres from a nearby business so that he'd have something good to heat and serve his guests, and made a quick list for the liquor store. Steve returned with the carton and teased Bucky's holiday playlist as he grated a little fresh nutmeg over the top of each glass. Bucky whapped his head with his invitation before handing it over.

"I don't remember your handwriting being this beautiful," Steve said, surprised, opening the envelope.

"Oh, calligraphy is a weird skill that Hydra made me pick up. There was a mission in the 50's where I used it as a way to penetrate to the target," he said. "I also learned how to make centerpieces out of fruits and vegetables in the 70's, roses out of radishes, swans out of apples, carving melons, my best work." Steve started to laugh.

"This I need to see."

"Just you wait, punk. I'll do something for the party, you will be amazed, and I expect an apology." He'd planned on flowers, the carving was time consuming and finicky, but he couldn't let a challenge to his skills go past.

"Ten bucks, jerk." They shook on it. Their conversation turned to their Christmases pre-war, fond reminiscences only, the passage of time making the memories of privations softer. Steve wanted to decorate his place too and ordered a Lyft, glad for extended shopping hours.

"Pickings are a little slim," Bucky warned, and Steve shrugged.

"I'll have to remember to get on it sooner next year. I'm not in the habit of decorating for myself." He left to get his wallet and coat after extracting a promise from Bucky to help put things up the next day. He also took the invitations to drop in the mail.

Wanting the full experience, Bucky decided to wrap his presents and put them by his tree. He had not reckoned on his cat. As soon as the tape and ribbons were produced, Natasha bounded over with bright green eyes and a sweeping paw, blissful when she could chew on the curly end of a ribbon or a piece of tape. She was completely unfazed by Bucky's efforts to push her away and he finally admitted defeat, twisting some paper scraps together, tying it with several pieces of ribbon, curling the ends with scissors, and tossing it far, far away. She was successfully diverted, and Bucky wrapped as fast as he could.

His wrapping wasn't as neat as he'd hoped, but it would do. His nerves were shot, and he decided to put the ribbons on just before he gave the presents away, since some of the ends were now chewed on and spitty. He'd need to trim those before gifting. He and Steve had been invited over to the Avengers complex for a Christmas Eve dinner where he'd get rid of most of them. Steve and he had planned on making a Christmas dinner for themselves. Pork roast, for the leftovers potential, gratin potatoes, a mushroom fricassee, roasted green beans with beets and feta, and a fruit salad. Gingerbread for dessert. They had divided the tasks between them and were ready to go. Exhausted after fending off his cat, who had lost interest in the ribbon toy and gone back to the fireplace, he retrieved a bottle of stout from the fridge and collapsed on the couch, where he watched the Charlie Brown Christmas Special, which made him sniffle.

The next day, Bucky and Steve hit the diner for breakfast before putting up some garlands, another desktop tree, and a bigger electric fireplace in Steve's place. "I didn't just want to buy a bunch of crap," Steve said. "I put in my calendar for next year to shop earlier for decorations I'll like more, the Monday after Thanksgiving. But I like it, it makes me feel more festive." Bucky went down to his apartment and got a book; they spent the afternoon reading, each reading out lines that especially struck them or amused them. They also talked about the bombings, both in general and the garage one in particular; to Bucky's surprise, it hadn't woken a lot of bad memories. What had gotten to him this time was the 'what if's'--what if Ava had been too badly hurt to move, what if the garage had collapsed. At least he was fairly sure that Ben hadn't suffered. His feet were cold, and he pressed them against Steve's leg. Steve rolled his eyes but didn't protest, and after they'd gone back to reading, absently put his hand on Bucky's feet, helping to keep them warm. It was casual touching that showed the importance of his relationships, and he reveled in it. Coming back was absolutely the right choice, and he wondered that he'd ever felt that the past held any answers.

"Buck," Steve said.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked when he didn't go on.

"After the Senate hearings, the American Psychological Association contacted me."

"'Bout what?"

"They'd like me to do some PSAs, public service announcements. About depression, suicidal ideation. PTSD. Anxiety. Poor self image. The role of nostalgia to the psyche. Warning signs for mental illness. My problems. For different populations--veterans, kids, adults."

"I thought you were doing ok," Bucky said, stricken, sitting up and withdrawing his feet. "That you'd gotten past your suicide attempts. I thought that your therapy had helped."

"I am, but you know I'm probably always going to be working through my issues, I'm at risk for recurring depression. I'm doing what I can that way with diet and exercise, ready to get medication if I need it. But I promise, If I start to go back into the dark, I'll tell you."

"I'll probably know before you do," Bucky muttered.

"Probably, and I'm relying on you too. Hearing what I had to say made this organization think that I could do some good. And not for anybody's purposes, just genuinely to help others who are struggling. After the Infinity stones, that's pretty much everybody. The suicide rate is still so high. I want to help. And they'll share resources with me, helplines, websites, that are reputable and I can direct people to. It'll help make up for the people I couldn't save. I know," he said, holding up his hands. "I know it's not in my power to save everybody, and I'm mostly ok with that." 

Bucky poked him with his big toe, softened by the thick sock he wore. "You know I'm with you to the end of the line, Steve. Now that I'm in my right mind again. Whatever you need." Steve smiled at him and patted his foot.

"Yep," he said. "I just wanted to think it over, tell you about it." Bucky smiled too and worked his toes under Steve's leg, going back to his book.

Bucky went to Ben's funeral, meeting his widow and kids. Ava arrived for the service with her sister but skipped the internment. A large contingent of people from the office also made it; Ben had been well-liked and respected.

Ava had texted thanks for his bouquet, and on Christmas Eve, he took her present down. She was looking a lot better, not sodden with fatigue and pain. "Come in," she said. "Rita went to the store. We're going out for dinner tomorrow, she can't cook and I don't want to right now, but we're running low." She smiled. "And I know all I had to do was call, but it's good to have her out of my hair for a bit." They went over to the sofa. There were decorations up here too, Christmas cards set up on the coffee table. "It's not that I'm not grateful for her coming out, she caught a little infection before it got bad and got me in. There was a small piece of fabric that had been missed, more like a couple of threads. I'm glad to see her, but she's kind of high maintenance." She gave Bucky a box and opened hers, delighted with both the candies and the massages. She'd given him a beautiful wool scarf that was thick and warm, several shades darker than his eyes, and two tickets to a big upcoming hockey game that he and Steve had been talking about going to. And a couple of crocheted wool balls filled with catnip for his cat.

"We got in a big fight," Ava admitted when he asked how things were going. "I don't even remember how it started, but Rita was pissed to hear what the Hiatus was like for me after she left. She'd apparently meant for me to use the money in the account for hard times, but I swear she never said that. She specified that it was for the storage unit. I said that I'm not a mind-reader, and she said that I should have had the sense to know that she'd want me to have some place to live, all that." She looked at Bucky, baffled. "But when we were growing up, her room, her things were all off limits unless she expressly told me I could come in or borrow something. I remember once hearing her complain to mom that I was an anchor, holding her back when she wanted to go out and have fun. So why she'd assume that, I don't know."

"Because she didn't think it through, or maybe she thought that she'd talked to you and it slipped her mind," he said gently. "Maybe she doesn't remember that conversation with your mom like you do." She rubbed her forehead.

"Like I said, I'm grateful she came out, but I'm also grateful she's going home on the 26th." She looked in the box and took a dark chocolate with a mint cream filling, according to the diagram on the padding, and offered him one. He chose a vanilla cream in milk chocolate, topped with a candied violet. He'd never eaten a flower, he didn't think. "I'm looking forward to your holiday party," she said, changing the subject, and was interested to learn that he'd adopted a cat.

"Fair warning, I'm one of those people who you'll find talking to the pets at a party," she confessed, making him grin.

"Natasha will probably like that," he said. "She likes to be admired. But Wanda and Sam will also be there, duties permitting. And Thor had some good news; one of his best friends showed up. He'd assumed that she was lost with the others, but Sif was off planet when Asgard was destroyed. It took a long time for her to make her way here. She wasn't a dust bunny, it was a long and hard trip. She'll be coming too."

"He must be thrilled," she said. And they were having an interesting conversation about Thor and the Asgardians in general, how they were getting on, when Ava's sister came back. Bucky took the bags from her and set them in the kitchen while she got her coat, gloves, hat, and scarf off, then gave her the present he'd brought. A slight, visible thawing was apparent as she thanked him, and she declined the invitation to his party, which had included her.

"I'll be going back the day after Christmas," she said crisply. "But I appreciate being included." Her attitude was of bullet-proof competence, utterly in control and self-contained, and Bucky found himself intimidated. Rita went to put the groceries away--and there was a bag from a local gourmet grocers that contained delicious nibbles--and Bucky saw the opportunity for a strategic retreat.

"Let me know if you need anything," he said to Ava, putting his scarf around his neck and picking up the tickets. Ava cut her eyes in the direction of the kitchen area, and Bucky pulled his head in like a turtle. She laughed and showed him out.

"Merry Christmas, Bucky," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Ava," he said, and ran his thumb along her jaw. Then Rita asked her a question, and Bucky left, going up to Steve's to show him the tickets. He knew Ava wouldn't want to go; she didn't like hockey for some reason. He and Steve went out for an early dinner, then hung out in Bucky's apartment for the evening, watching "A Christmas Story" on repeat, laughing, and having a good time.

The next morning, Steve was up bright and early, waking Bucky up with a breakfast casserole and coffee. Bucky straggled out, rumpled and sleepy and unshaved, but perked up with breakfast and coffee. They exchanged presents--Steve had taken a hint from Bucky's profession of fruit-carving skills and gotten him a class in woodcarving along with a tool roll of pre-sharpened basic knives and gouges. And a bottle of tincture and a pretty glass dip pen and bottle of ink in a stocking from Santa. The pen had a twist of blue and green glass inside the clear glass of the handle, pretty. The tincture was for when Bucky treated himself to a hot-towel shave for special occasions, producing the best shave humanly possible. He liked to make a ritual out of it. Steve was intrigued by the art supplies and Bucky--sorry, "Santa"--had also left a stocking for Steve that contained a clear demonstrator fountain pen--Steve would use ballpoints but had a real attachment to fountain pens--and a colorful variety of sample vials of colorful ink as well as a full-sized bottle of blue ink. Natasha had been given treats and toys by Steve and a new pretty collar--the cat tree had been an early Christmas gift-and organic catnip from Bucky. It was an excellent Christmas. They separated to clean up--Bucky took advantage of the time and used his favorite straight-edge razor, the new tincture, and a hot towel for the holiday--and regrouped in his kitchen to start the meal. They'd eat whenever it was ready and hang out together. They had eggnog and put on the football game. Dinner turned out to be delicious, and overall, Christmas had been fantastic.

The next day, Bucky dropped off small gifts to his friends among the other tenants, getting his hair cut by Matt, and went out to do the shopping for his party on the 28th. He got a watermelon for the centerpiece as well as limes that could could have geometric patterns zested into the peel to look like Christmas ornaments. He picked up the groceries for a few things he was going to make, and called it a day. He had to go back to work on the 27th, and would pick up the appetizers on his way home on the 28th. Nelson had told him that there wasn't much going on, work wouldn't pick up again until after New Years, so he could ease his way back to work with half-days. There would be plenty of time to prepare.

Kalinda was his new supervisor, the next most-experienced architectural technician in the company after Ben, and she was easy-going. He'd also be working a little with the new hire, Michael, as Ben's old projects were divided. Michael was more experienced than Bucky, but Bucky knew the projects and the people.

"He seems nice," he told Ava after they'd met him at a team meeting. She nodded.

"Our HR people have a really good knack for finding people who will fit in well, but you always wonder until you see them in action," she said. "And now they have to replace Ben."

"I thought Michael was Ben's replacement." She shook her head.

"We're growing fast enough that they were already going to hire another tech. But maybe they'll have a head start filling the empty position since they have recent resumes. It'll be hard, though. Ben was terrific." Bucky nodded. Then they talked about other things; her sister had returned home with no further issues. "I think she was glad to go," she said. "It's a small apartment for two people who don't actually know each other very well. But I'm glad she came out, overall. It was a nice Christmas."

He hustled home from work on the 28th, first making thin toasts from baguettes for bruschetta before settling down to carve his watermelons, incorporating the thin dark green peel, the white layer just under that, and the red color of the fruit as elements in the designs. He had two small ones; one had paler flesh than the other, and he used that one for his basket; he hollowed out the rind, cutting the flesh in chunks, and carving the rind in curved feathers. It would hold the watermelon chunks, chunks of cantaloupe, grapes, and pineapple. The other melon took a couple hours to carve, a beautiful peony in the center with ornate carved bands around it. Take that, Stevie, he thought, covering it in plastic wrap and putting it into the refrigerator. Since his table was small, the food would be placed out on the counter, a dark soapstone that was a good background. He'd gotten a couple of pretty cut-glass bowls at an antique store for warmed nuts and hard candies; the new penguin plates would have pride of place among his ordinary white plates. For beverages, he had a delicious cold punch and hot spiced wine. Pretty paper napkins and plates for his guests, a nice arrangement of dark greens and white roses and carnations as a backdrop; he'd learned that some flowers were bad for cats and nixed the lilies in the arrangement. He ran a dustcloth around, plumped the velvet throw pillows, and ran the vacuum. Natasha glowered at him from her hiding place in the house on the cat tree. He got ready and started placing the nibbles out just as his guests started to arrive. Stevie first, of course, bright eyed and interested in their bet. He stared at the melons and coughed up the tenner with no complaints. Bucky smirked.

Steve took over door duty and Bucky finished; Natasha stayed in the little cat tree house. This was much better than Bucky expected; he thought she'd retreat under the bed. Ava was the next to arrive; she and Steve had also exchanged presents before Christmas, so she only had a couple small gifts for Sam and Wanda. Natalia was next; she handed over his present and made straight for the cat tree. Before the next person--Sam--arrived, she'd charmed the cat out and they'd taken over a chair where they shared an appetizer that had tiny shrimp in it. Natasha retreated again when Thor and Sif came, then Matt and Gina, and Wanda was late, apologizing unnecessarily. It was just nice to have his friends there. And maybe next year he'd have even more friends to join them.

Gina and Matt couldn't stay long, they had another engagement, but were there long enough to meet everybody and have some snacks, admire the decor and have fun. Overall, the party was a big success; the food was all gone, everybody exclaimed over his fruit-carving skills, and the drinks were almost all gone too. Everybody had seemed to have good conversation, and Bucky was pleased with his party-giving skills. Everybody also liked the presents he'd chosen for them, so he considered his holiday season a complete success. After his guests left, he attended to the minimal cleanup and took a warm bath. Wanda had given him these things she called bath bombs that had pleasing scents--sandalwood, a winter-y pine smell, and lavender--and he enjoyed watching the lavender one fizz and dissolve. It was a nice light scent and he felt pleased with the evening.

The next night was the hockey game, thoroughly enjoyed by both him and Steve, and the next night was a class he'd chosen for himself--Ava had taken cooking classes here and there all over the city, and he'd signed up for one on preserving after getting her list of culinary schools. He could remember his mom making pickles, and he wanted to try his hand at jams, so he'd be set for next summer's bounty. There were also recipes for pickled mushrooms and peppers that he could do now, and a wonderful recipe for apple pie filling with spices and vanilla beans. 

They had New Years Eve and New Years Day off from work, so Bucky made pie crust, apple pie filling, and created hand pies, brushed with egg on top and sprinkled with non-melting sugar. Delicious. He distributed some to Ava and Steve, inviting both of them to his apartment for a casual gathering to mark the new year. And they came, Steve with the mix for hot buttered rum and a bottle of the spirit, and Ava brought brownies. They turned on one of the parties being televised and counted down as the huge glass ball dropped in Times Square, everybody grateful to be in out of the cold and away from the crowd.

And to be starting a new year with friends, stable jobs or plans for classes, and the feeling that good things were coming. Steve yawned and went upstairs to his apartment after some good bye hugs. Ava also got up to go. At the door, she smiled at Bucky and asked if he'd go out with her.

"I'd like that. A lot," he said.

And on January 2, HR got visits from two employees to tell them that they were dating. Nelson juggled job assignments around to make it work.


	23. P.S. Bucky's Playlists

Bucky has wholeheartedly taken to playlists. If he'd been functional during the 80's, he'd have made mix tapes by the dozen. He has songs he likes from each decade from the 40s to the 10s, playlists for artists he especially likes, types of music, like doo wop and glam metal, and mood playlists, including Dance, Sleep, Workout, and Happy.

He likes Taylor Swift.

(Steve, quirking a smile: Really?

Bucky, grabbing his phone back defensively: Yeah, asshole. She can write a hook like nobody's business.)

1\. The only hope for me is you--My Chemical Romance

2\. Keep yourself alive--Queen

3\. Ray of Light--Madonna

4\. The boxer--Simon and Garfunkle

5\. Lay your hands on me--Peter Gabriel

6\. Good vibrations--Beach Boys

7\. You don't know how it feels--Tom Petty

8\. Boulevard of broken dreams--Green Day

9\. I wonder if I care as much--Everly Brothers

10\. Hit me with your best shot--Pat Benetar

11\. Heart of stone--Rolling Stones

12\. Storms--Fleetwood Mac

13\. Under Pressure--Queen

14\. Welcome to the jungle--Guns n Roses

15\. Sophomore slump or comeback of the year--Fallout Boy

16\. Joey--Concrete Blonde

17\. Party starter--Will Smith

18\. Believe--Cher

19\. I fall to pieces--Patsy Cline

20\. Something just like this--Chainsmokers

21\. How you get the girl--Taylor Swift


End file.
